#{ ᴀ ᴡɪᴄᴋᴇᴅ ᴄᴏᴠᴇᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴄᴀʀʟᴇᴛ ᴋɪꜱꜱ } // { ᴛʜᴇ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ ᴍᴏᴏɴ }

[castien-ffxiv]

[cyrus-ffxiv]

Rehashed Memories

A crash from the other room jolted the young boy awake. His bruised, swollen fingers awkwardly shoved strands of dark hair from the crust of his eyelashes. He rubbed his sleepless, puffy eyes from the strain of last night’s prior altercation, and it seemed to have bled into the next day as the paper-thin walls did little to protect him from the violent voices in the next room. A woman’s scream was filled with vitriol as a familiar man snapped back with strained yet equal venom. The boy couldn’t understand the biting language used, but he realized the intent - the woman urged violence while the man demanded quiet.

The boy only focused on the second voice and a bloom of poisoned hope sprung in his chest. Was this a good or a bad day? A good day meant a swim in the lake; a hike in the woods with a view of the mountains; a calm without the constant traffic of strange men in and out of the house; a campfire with a silly ghost story that let him find safety in a set of arms; a lesson in the art of fingerpicking six strings and singsong poetry by a smoky voice. 

He placed his little feet on the floorboards; they were cold and sticky, unnaturally so, and as he stood to put his weight on it, it was as if a thousand shapeless, blackened critters skittered from him at once, then swarmed in again to chew at his heels. With each step toward the door–toward the screaming–the threshold grew in height and distance until it stood over him like a looming monster, light from the broken glass casting teeth with eyes watching hungrily. He knew this already, he’d been here before.

With tears already salting his eyes, the boy used the blurry vision as a boon of false bravery to pull open the barrier and the voices ceased instantly. Two faceless shadow figures stood far too close for comfort, something cold and sharp and glinting between them. Something wasn’t right. The doom was palpable and yet all too familiar.

“Papa, is this the bad day?” the little boy choked out.

“My boy, please don’t look.” The shadow’s familiar smoky voice said as it turned to face him, giving its back to the woman.

And so the creature sprung, giving way to the rapid, sickening squelch and thump as that sharp, evil thing drove into flesh. The boy suddenly begged for the screaming instead. But those things nipping at his heels finally found purchase and dragged him back into the inky tar floor. The doorway seized shut and that glint of broken glass frowned down as he sunk down--falling, falling, falling.

The Highlander snapped awake with a gash, flailing to find solid ground beneath him. What he found were silken sheets and so many pillows, so far different than the cold corners and cots he had grown used to. That lingering stickiness was the soft comforter clinging to cold sweat. He froze as a figure appeared in the distant doorway and languidly floated toward him with a gentle jingle of jewelry. He couldn’t move save for an involuntary clutch of a fist out of sight.

A familiar woman’s sweet yawn broke the silence, her tattooed hands appearing in dim firelight while adjusting the mess of platinum blonde over her shoulder just before sinking back into bed. He shut his eyes as her gentle weight and warmth draped over him.

“Cy, are you awake?” he heard her whisper into his chest.

He didn’t answer, breathing deep to catch his breath and fake sleep. When silence deafened once more and her breath grew long and heavy, Cyrus opened his eyes to stare at the ceiling where he’d remain unmoving, daring not to disturb her.

[castien-ffxiv]

- ᴋɪʟʟɪɴɢ ᴛɪᴍᴇ -

[castien-ffxiv]

[castien-ffxiv]

[castien-ffxiv]

[castien-ffxiv]

Brine and Blood

The calm of the sea, slow waves lapping at the docks, and the din of wooden boards of both where Castien stood and the berth moaned against the salty kisses of the ocean beyond. Limsa and the Sirensong were merely a second home away from home. Then again, up until recently, every place had been a second home away from home. It had been wherever her feet had taken her for the majority of her life for as far back as she could recall.

The city had already been bustling and the captivating trickle of orange and pinks decorated the stretch of the horizon far off – sunset had been upon them and in due course the Song would make yet another voyage. Beyond it’s typical route of transport, much of the belly of the vessel had been cleared of its carted wares and stored within the small warehouse not far from the docks.

This time, the Song was out for blood and plunder. The reason? Vengeance.

It was far beyond the scope of trade and gil. Betrayal often marked one for certain death. Even on the seas, there was a code.

A code broken and one that could only be paid in full with lifeblood.

Five million per vessel brought back to Black Water Bay that had belonged to the one known as Ophelia. Still at large, the woman remained elusive but there was only so far and long someone could run until being found and five million gil was a hefty sum that very few could gloss over without revising.

Who better than the carefully picked crew of the Sirensong and their dedicated Cartographer?

Castien knew the oceans, routes, currents, and lands like the back of her hand, the perfect coupling with the Song’s astronavigators. There wasn’t a ship on the sea that they couldn’t find and use the oceans and landscape to their advantage to overtake what they required.

Unlike the Sea Scorpion, the Sirensong’s sister vessel, what the Song lacked in speed she made up for manpower and weaponry. The emptying of the hull would certainly make for swifter sailing.

The blonde lifted her hands to tuck back her wild hair into a bun, gloves, and belts double and triple-checked and chakrams ready to be in pique form. There was naught else left to do but wait for the rest of the crew and cast off. 

Shifting crimson eyes from the horizon and back to the city’s docks, there came a lingering few that made for the gangway, the outstretched and welcoming arm of the Sirensong, eagerly awaiting all those who would be accompanying her beyond. 

Bodies of strong men and women, ripe for the voyage emboldened by the task at hand and the hefty reward promised, marched their way up onto the Sirensong, some already humming their shanty like a prayer in their own way, others steeling their gaze with purpose, immediately going to work once upon deck to check, check, and check again. Vahalia did not suffer lazy fools, and it showed as hands became busy at whatever capacity they could afford until called elsewhere. 

Amongst them: a new blood, but a familiar creature, a familiar loom; a land she had begun chartering and conquering with quiet promise to nurture.

The creature came to stand next to the Cartographer as she gazed out over Limsa. His raven hair was already tied back by a leather strand, the wispy strays kissing his temples and the wind. He might have attempted a shave, though it was just to cut the length from bushy to a handsome sculpt. But the best part was the coat: nothing like the rag of leather he had called a coat when they had first met, but an actual fit of black leathers, bolts of silver, and a shirt of rich Cress purple. At his hip, his belts were laden with simple but newly forged weapons ranging from cutlass and dagger to pistols, but upon his back, most important of all, a handsome darkened steel gunblade sporting the promise of quality by none other but Brightburn AAA&E. Perhaps for the first time in a long while, the beast of a man named Cyrus was in his element. The energy exuding from him was palpable, a brooding seethe and excitement for whatever was to come. She had seen this before, in the dim of Shady’s before the cage.

He closed his eyes as sea breeze swept over them, tipping his head skyward as his chest rose and fell with a big breath. 

“Are you ready to lead us to ruin this Ophelia cunt’s entire world?” He asked, his fangs showing with a smile promising of blood and violence.

“Always.” Castien replied with a smug grin, her expression filled with mirth. There was a different sort of joy in being able to cut the waves and sail under the stars. It was art that one would have to experience to truly find the excitement within. The woman busied herself with coiling the ropes from the deck and placing them proper for later use.

The bustle of the ship roared to life, and the yells over her shoulder were eventually followed closely with a sharp whistle from the bridge, preparing the crew for casting off. The anchor below caused the ship to wade within the water, a soft bob coming to the deck as the large chain was slowly hoisted from the depths of Limsa’s waters, “Should we find her that would be a miracle. From what I know of it, her whereabouts have been a mystery since the undertaking of her first ship. She has ten more out there on the waters somewhere and I’m willing to bet she’s hidden away on one of them. There haven’t been any reports of Airships or the family having owned any.” there was a small chuckle, “Of course, she could very well be on a faraway island somewhere but then we’d simply have to search harder. Brazen people who think themselves above others and have a thirst for danger rarely tuck tail and run. If I were a betting woman – which I am – she’s sitting cozy in one of those damn vessels of hers.”

Cyrus fell in next to her, assisting her with ropes to cut the time, double and triple checking the quality and heaving them into their proper positions; knowing full well that not doing so could end disastrously just in case. There was a process and protocol for a reason. He watched the experts around him, too, visually learning–and quickly–taking in what he could. And so he was quiet as he listened to Castien as well, admiring her thoughts as they were spoken to him. He loved that, he realized; hearing the inner workings of this woman and her mind made him privy to things that had made her so successful. 

The clatter from the gangway filled the air and the piece lifted from the dock below. Mast and sails, ropes and hard labor had finally brought the Song to move. A slow start and an easy sail out of the port caused the flush of waves below to splay at the ship’s keel; salt filling her lungs as Castien breathed it in with heavy delight.

The further Limsa was becoming, the more the Sirensong picked up speed and in a ruffle and flurry of heavy sheets, the sails unfurled to catch the wind, ushering the vessel onward.

As they were moving a heap of rope, Cyrus looked across to her, seeing the true joy in her features in the salt and sea. His reverie was interrupted as a crewman suddenly rushed past him, easily sidestepping out of the way. While he had been hired as muscle and protection, there was plenty of time and he wanted to utilize it productively, especially with one he could trust. 

“I’ve been on vessels before, but never one like this. Simple transports and the like. This is a well-oiled machine. There’s purpose here. I mean, five million is nothing to sneeze at. You’ll guide me, yeah?” He asked her, hooking a thumb on his chest strap for a moment. His attention shifted when he heard a familiar call from the galley, staring toward it as memories flooded back to him.

“I hear the Lady Cress has quite the network and skilled engineers. Any other way and I suspect I’d be out of a part-time job.” Castien replied with a small chuckle. Straightening her back she tucked her hands into her back pockets, “I’m not much of a sailor but I’ve been around enough to help out. Myself and our astronavigator will have the charting well in hand and have a few back up plans if bad weather or our course come to change. Best to be prepared for everything, no?” she hummed lowly and her curiosity piqued as she followed Cyrus’s attention.

“I don’t miss that for a fucking moment. I’d go down there and help but fuck if I peel another damn popato.” Cyrus finally drew his gaze away as the yelling ceased. On the main deck, the crew moved with purpose. He watched one lean over as seasickness got the better of him, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and continued as if nothing happened. 

“Have you met with the astronavigator yet?” he asked. 

“Many moons ago, we’ve worked together in the past though the Siresong has two and myself and Osric’s sister, Edalene switch off on voyages on the vessel. Her work varies from my own but we see each other in passing.” she looked out over the horizon that still bled a bright line of the setting sun glittering over the ocean waves, “I suspect we’ll make our make in a few hours. The cover of darkness will be a boon.”

“Indeed,” he replied at the mention of dark. “That’s when we thrive, is it not.” He breathed in deep and took one more look around the main deck. With everything in order, the crew seemed to be at ease; some hung around on starboard, some at the stem, and even at the port, talking amongst themselves. One group, in particular, seemed to be eyeing their way, but Cyrus quickly realized that it was the cartographer that they were interested in.

“Indeed it is.” she hummed and looked around briefly, “I can think of a few things to do in the meantime, I have my sketch pads and a lovely piece of wood to work on when time permits.” taking a few steps towards Cyrus she motioned her head to the side to indicate one of the doors upon the large ship that led to the belly bellow, “Interested?”

Cyrus followed her gaze and her word seared him for some reason. He had to keep himself stoic in front of company, for one reason or another, but she’d catch the hint of a dimple with a flash in his gaze. Without a word, he gestured for her to lead the way and fell in behind her, a hand at a gentle rest with a hook of thumb through a loop. He saw in his peripheral how the group shifted and glanced their way, warning in his eye: do not disturb, it said.

With the mad shuffle of feet up and down the stairs, the entire ship became alive with whispers, hurried movements and low chatter. It was enough to cause Castien to place her focus elsewhere as she loomed around one of the corners to survey the scene while deft hands adjusted her attire with haste, “It might seem as if we’ve found our quarry.” she spoke looking back to Cyrus, the pair having found a cozy dark spot way from the activity above.

There was a small smirk present on her face when Castien made him her focal point for a few stints, “You don’t need a nap do you or are you ready to make the gulls sing?”

Cyrus had never seen a ship slip next to another so easily in the dead of night. Clearly, his most recent employer took on only the best and he would have felt honored in that sentiment if he wasn’t already focused on his job at hand.

An enemy overlook’s corpse took a drop into the sea with a splash that melded with the ebb and flow of the waves.  The wooden walks were dropped gently and the ship was still quiet as men moved in tandem. The big man himself had to keep himself steady on the narrow planks. But Cyrus didn’t have time to think about anything except revenge. It may not have been his own bout, but the word alone stirred him into the best of action. He waited until the scout at the helm gave him clearance and then slipped below deck. And “revenge”? It was a good word to cling to as he moved like silk through the sleeping crew in the barracks. His footsteps were swift and tactical as he prowled through the cabin; heavier were his blades as they sliced through flesh, leaving the crewmen mangled or worse. He basked in the scent of copper as it left pools in the planks below his feet. 

Eventually, someone with a throat intact cried out; letting the rest of their mates know: “Help! Someone help us!” Even then, the voice was silenced with a sudden blade through the jugular. Cerulean and amber glowed in the darkened cabin, sharpest of fangs exposed in a wicked grin. He laughed, the ruthless sound echoing through the barracks.

Gunfire popped out over the open ocean, the two ships engaged with one another, both Siren’s and two different songs, locked into a heated battle. Castien rose above the stairs and along the deck to follow after Cyrus and the crew, swords at mid-clash, the hard fracture of the opposing ships mast rang out and when the wood of the vessel moaned in protest and yells carried out through the masses, the broken wood shifted the enemy ship before the broken mass finally released into the water. Frantically the crew of the Dirge swept over the deck, cutting ropes and lines to let the mast find the depths without taking half the ship along with it.

Canon fire boomed and sulfur and smoke filled the air – rust. Copper. A metallic taste tapered past her mouth and into the back of her throat.

She was looking, searching for one specifically that could very well have been among the masses of the Dirge.

Ophelia.

When her body willed it, Castien vaulted over the railing of the Song and landed amongst the crowd upon the deck of the Dirge, chakram slicing and whirling through the bodies, a spray of blood, garbled screaming and somewhere far off near the helm of the ship there had come a cacophony of orders, barking commands and the clang of swords above.

Still, not a woman in sight that matched the description but the ship still had her Captain, but where?

As someone from the Dirge aimed to make a break for the railing and escape by throwing themselves over, the front of his throat was caught by Castien’s open palm, enough force and momentum she clipped him mid-run, clotheslining him hard to the deck where knee met gut and maw met his nape.

No escape. Kill everyone.

That was the orders. The Siren’s Dirge was now to be at the mercy of the Cress name. Five million gil on the line was far too much of a heavy price to have a moral compass here or to choke.

Labored breaths came from the stranger under Castien’s weight and when she released him, he was far too gone to retaliate, let alone make it back to shore.

Cyrus rose from the depths of the ship, his entirety drenched in crimson except for the back of his pants, and captured the vision of Castien; her mouth tight over a weak neck. His heart exploded, better than the adrenaline of any of the fights he experienced in the last month. Seeing the man get discarded like a piece of rotten meat only stirred him more into action.

He turned, rushing forward to slice his blades through each leftover meat sent to the deck. They crumpled with little more than a mere whimper. 

When they were done, he focused on Castien. “Where next?” He asked, his heterochromia wide with bloodlust, mouth wider with a fanged smile. The man seemed to be enjoying himself.

Throwing her head back, drunk off sanguine she rose to her feet and jabbed a hand towards the opposing ship, “Find whoever is in charge of that vessel and apprehend them. Kill anyone in the way.”

The deck was thinning out from Ophelia’s crew, some even trying to make it back to their ship but the scattered few that stayed to fight certainly shown their mettle.

It was the sharp pierce through Castien’s side from behind that had her cry out, rage consuming her and her maw snapped open, painted is warm blood that coated much of her jaw and neck. With grit teeth she reached back to ram her chakrams deep into the shoulders of the person who had caught her unawares, strength and swift movement playing into her wrath as she hoisted the frame of the man behind her up and over her shoulder down onto the deck in front of her, one chakram loosed from sinew and bone as she hammered the blade down and down and down into the man’s face and throat.

Sickening cracks and slopping sounds of cerebral matter chunked and flew every which way and her breathing labored more and more with each slam of the circular blade into the body though it was already expired, the particles of the physical body itself beginning to trickle away from the living form.

Cyrus caught her cry; he didn’t even have a chance to run to her rescue before he saw her loose her rage. He watched as she turned the assailant into viscera. Watched as she defended herself. He realized his claws were out. His fingertips hurt. His toes hurt. His back hurt, the familiar sensation of moonlight. He was hungry. His spine arched and he was suddenly cutting his gaze to his allies. 

'No. Stop. You do this every time. Stop it.' He could hear his own voice.

Forward, she said.

Forward is what he heard, and forward was where he went. He saw movement from the brig and launched himself. He powerlined the male, who instantly crumbled under a thorough slashing. He threw his head back with a wicked laugh and leapt back onto the home ship, holding fast to the mast. She’d recognize his eyes as they watched her from his perch. That gentleman she knew from months previous was unlike whatever this thing was. It grinned at her where he hung, ready for the next instance. 

Already spent Castien listed herself and caught the salty wind that had followed them to this very spot, letting it fill her lungs. Her hand lowered to the puncture wound that sunk deep into her flesh – it was too much to hope for a clean cut but she knew she’d heal well enough in due course.

Making her way towards the other ship she heard the cheers ring out of their fellow crew mates and her crimson eyes veered upwards towards where Cyrus had been– was– what was Cyrus currently. A monster among men; the both of them.

She simply smirked up in his direction, knowingly yet impressed and she finally hopped over to to the Dirge as she sought out the small few that were alive within the deck of the opposing ship. The crew of the Song made themselves useful as well as they too aided in clearing the boat, it hadn’t taken long before they had found a man and dropped him to his knees.

“The Captain, is that you?”

“Nay, the Captain is dead. You lot seen to that!” he spit along the ground between the Captain of the Sirensong and Castien.

“Then who the fuck are you?”

“Quartermaster.” he grit his teeth spitefully, “Pity you’ve missed your fun.”

The Captain paused and turned his attention to the crew of the Sirensong as some of the members had already gone about tying up those from the Dirge that remained, Quartermaster included, “Can’t say what the next call is here, lass.” he regarded Castien and she gave it a solid, careful thought.

“We bring him in with us for questioning. Kill the rest and bring the Dirge to Black Water – no stalling, no deviating from the plan.”

“Kill him,” Cyrus couldn’t help himself from speaking as he had found himself already in the lounge of it all, mostly followed by the scent of Castien’s blood, of all things. “Skip all the steps.” He made a point to look at their victim over her shoulder, his eyes illuminated by bloodlust. 

“If we just kill him we don’t have to deal with the questioning part.” He whispered in Castien's ear, reiterating his point.   

Castien looked up and over her shoulder, hand still to her side and her ever-piqued attention upon those they had taken into their custody, “Kill him and we lose what information he has.” she whispered back to Cyrus, “Ophelia isn’t on the ship but we also have her quartermaster and we do need her as well as additional information to the whereabouts of her ships.”

Once more Castien’s pointed crimson gaze looked upon the Quartermaster then the Captain of the Sirensong, “ – betting he knows where the warehouses are. A walking manifest.” she smirked gently.

The Song’s Captain let out a sharp whistle and lifted his hand where there was a signal causing the Crew of the Song to go about their business and new orders, the Crew seeking out anything of import. The Dirge had now been officially under Cress occupy and whatever would be found within and on the vessel. Trade with Carrera would certainly be lucrative for her.

“He comes with us. Everything else?-- ” there was a mild pause from the Captain as he looked to both Cyrus and Castien in passing, “ -- Pack it, keep it or kill it. I don’t give a shit. We’ll reconvene with the Lady of the House to share our outcome.” 

He didn’t wait for a response, his tone while calm and patient when he offered the statement, was certainly an order. Despite Castien and Cyrus being hired for the job, it was the Captain and his vessel that they had to adhere to with respect.

Cyrus couldn’t help the bestial growl that loosed from his chest as Castien and the Captain both stilled him. He bared his teeth at their victim; this poor thing that wriggled like a piglet in front of the both of them. Hopeless. Full of life and yet… so useless. His whole body shivered with a hunger he couldn’t touch.

“If it means nothing to no one,” Cyrus said, his voice utterly thick with intention, a desire nothing Castien had ever heard, “I want it for mine own.” Why did the room seem so stifled, the shadows so thick? They closed in so quickly and stuffed the senses so fast it was almost like a sudden spring’s storm.

The quiet lurched...

Collab w/ @cyrus-ffxiv

[castien-ffxiv]

[castien-ffxiv]

[castien-ffxiv]

- ᴀ ɴɪɢʜᴛ ɪɴ -

[castien-ffxiv]

Brigand

[ Music ]

The lanterns within the establishment dimmed and the chatter came to a low roar ushering in the calm of silence as the drums picked up once more engaging into a beat and a wonderful tempo was called forth. Drinks were in no short supply and all seats seemed to have been filled for days within the Smoking Crow of Black Water Bay since the Sirensong had docked from their last voyage.

A time for merriment and light celebration, another day down and another handful of gil earned. Nothing to scoff at when the clime was warm and clear and the night drew in the sounds of the crickets and wildlife beyond the settlement’s proper.

The drumming became louder and the boisterous hymn of a woman’s voice filled the room. When the rhythm of the song picked up and more instruments joined in, a roar of fire flashed to life on the stage a circular motion and in the middle of the steel ring casted aflame, a masked woman lowered down from the ceiling, legs carefully suspending her along a large hoop.

High above and before the patrons, she weaved intricate twists and daring motions in and out of the hoop. A spin and turn and a swift circle of the apparatus gave her body the momentum it needed to web the aerial dance together, her body moving and contorting with the beat of the music, finalizing her entrance when her toes extended down to touch the stage below her in the circle of the fire – all for show.

It was a show the barkeep wanted and it was a show she was paid to put on. 

None, no one in the establishment could deny the spectacle before them; the music compelled and men and women alike gawked with admiration at the masked woman's athleticism and poise, the grandeur of her fluid movements drawing praise in the form of gasps and bated breath alike.

Good. Everyone was distracted, just as the little birdie had foretold. It was hard for a giant to move through crowds without being noticed. Thankfully, the low light, ambient flames, and the diverted attention afforded the stalking creature a minute to whisk by some of the larger tables with sticky paws.

The piece ascended back into the darkness and curtains above when the entertainer's hand released from the hoop. The golden pieces and coins at the woman’s biceps and hips jingled, a stark contrast to the ebon ink that mapped her body in various places that were intentionally exposed. Silks flowing with her movements and the soft chime of baubles and bangles were drowned out from the music save for the moments she dared to move by or dance closer to the patrons. Slowly as the music came to a dull pulse and started to play out, the blonde woman stepped over the flickering fire at the center of the stage, crouching, the masked woman sought to pick up the hefty mug the front and center gentleman had before her and drew it to her mouth for a long haul of the liquid whether she was invited or accepted to do so, she did so without shame. A wink was afforded to the patron she siphoned a sip from.

But the beat of the drums and the energy in the room caused the mysterious man to pause as he found himself near the front, his pockets heavy with ill-gotten gains and fleeting dreams. Why was everyone suddenly looking in his direction? Had he been so careless? An icy feeling of being caught froze him into place. Eyes of cerulean and gold cut between the patrons in view and he realized that it wasn't him they were looking toward, but instead: the main attraction. 

So those eyes came to rest upon a mask of lupine, and his head involuntarily tilted with wonder and curiosity. That cold at the back of his neck melted as a rush of warmth blushed over the rest of him. Heat bled into his cheeks. For a suspended moment, it was only him and this woman – whom he had never met before --and not the blur of bodies filling the venue around him.

But then the moment was shattered when he heard an angry yell of 'Hey, where'd my shit go?!' cut after the hymn of voices ended. His expression shifted from wonder to a darker knowing, and he could only flash a fanged smile to the wolf mask before the mug was snagged, dragged from, and suddenly dipped away from the performer and her front of the stage as he slipped fluidly into the crowd. 

The loud buzz of voices and shouts filled the large room and there was a clatter of chairs and benches as those within began getting up, searching pockets and pouches for their well-earned coin; some of them certainly leaving a little lighter and not a gil to their name to put towards drinks.

Yells boomed out, neighbors accusing neighbors and even those with a slur to their words had not escaped the issue at hand. Some accused their company, and others avoided tables beside them as a brawl broke out near the stage sending muds and tables as well as plates and chairs into the chaos.

What a well-thought-out distraction.

Crimson eyes flickered past the moving bodies and the blonde-haired woman stood from her position along the stage.

“Cas!” the Keep called out over the bar and the patrons, bouncers tending to break up the throes within the establishment. The Keep  – Kent – waved his massive hand again when he called out to her, “Snatcher.” he spoke again trying to keep eye contact with the woman as he pointed to the door that was open a crack.

“Of course…” she huffed out and she ran for the double doors to throw them wide. The glow from within the tavern and the voices carried out into the still, warm night of the Island. There were only so many places one person could go on an Island and it wasn’t as if they were going to get far in a row boat. 

All other ships remained docked and much of the settlement of Black Water had been present or sleeping – either the person had to rough it through the wooded areas of the Island itself or stow away on a ship. Not that Castien had to play guessing games for long.

A glint, sharp and predatory almost found her eyes and she stalked the cobbled road as if tracking something – it wasn’t a trail of anything left behind but a prominent scent. Almost akin to something metallic and….musky? No. Something else…

Earthy.

The aroma of sanguine found her and she bolted in the direction of what she had picked up on, a run almost feral in nature and far more swift than the norm. They were fast, she’d give them that but she had known much of the Island like the back of her hand, there was no denying the fact she was closing in and far faster than she anticipated. With momentum, she launched herself over the hillside to continue her chase with chakram at the ready from her beltline.

Powerful long legs bound in a steady, graceful gait as the man fled the violent scene behind him. For a moment, he could only imagine the damage he may have done to the business and personal prospects of the patrons what with all the angry screaming and crash of furniture, but that was immediately forgotten in lieu of prospects of his own: the heavy thud of coin pouches and every hidden coat pocket alike as they bounced with his every loping stride, promising him a momentary respite of past wrongs. 

The violence behind him gave way to quiet nature and the whisper of wind across his cheeks as he distanced further, picking up his sable mane lined with silver that slipped from its loose leather hair tie every few hundred feet or so until it freely streaked behind him.

Counting his deeds as a victory, the man found himself vaulting over fallen trees, ducking under limb, and letting loose in nature’s gym until he grew shorter of breath. Above, the night sky watched over him and he tilted his rugged, scarred visage to meet it, drinking in the night air, unaware of the creature in his wake.

That was until keen, pointed ears caught the snap of a twig, kick of leaf, and the subtle jingle of a bangle. Fuck. Fight or flight snapped into overdrive, and with a jerk, he was on the move again as the latter won. He had no time to contemplate how he had been so careless to be pursued - it was soon behind him and for the second time in one night, he felt the icy shard of fear at his back. This was not a part of the plan.

And then, without warning, the gaining footsteps behind him gave way to a weight at his back that sent him flying forward into a nosedive. Instinct switched to fight as he used the momentum to tuck and roll, taking the much smaller body with him until he released her to propel further in front of him as he came to a stop after a rough slide. With such motion, his coats snapped forward and gil glinted in the moonlight as it scattered to earth between them. 

Fierce, luminescent eyes piercing the space between them dropped to the ground and the feral mood shifted when his shoulders dropped with an exasperated hand gesture as if he had just spilled milk. It would save his shadowstalker the trouble of having to force him to drop the goods.

The sound of the gil was like music to her ears and she spared no effort in using her surroundings to her advantage, not giving the man a chance to breathe or double back, the half-bred pushed from the small rocky formation she had been thrown towards. Fast, the sheen of her circular blades cascaded in his direction with unseen threads, a glimmer of aether falling in their wake when a web-like pressure tugged at the back side of her opposition’s legs and with the jerk of her hands and the whistling blades that soared past him and boomeranged back to their owner; attempting to take his stance right out from under him.

Gravel and dirt kicked up when the blonde made contact with the ground to find herself on more favorable footing, “Wrong neighborhood, slick.”

“Clearly!” He felt the tug at his legs and didn't resist, letting it take him if only to avoid decapitation. A bestial snarl expelled his throat when he hit the ground with a heavy thud, watching blades glint overhead as they passed then retracted to their mistress.

He used his arms to propel himself to his feet again after he snapped himself from the aetherial snare, testing his own stance with a widespread pose, big body bouncing from one foot to the other. Stolen keepsakes still trapped in his pocket clattered musically as he moved akin to a boxer. Unlike a trained fighter, however, his fists were unfurled, blackened claws more befitting a beast than a man adorning his fingertips.

All thoughts of how he'd approach the fight gave way to realization when he recognized his opponent. "You're a phenomenal dancer," his compliment seemed genuine despite his predicament. "Had everyone under a spell back there."

Agile fingers adjusted the chakrams within her grasp, the woman keen on seeing this to the end. Crimson eyes narrowed past the mask in the man's direction, “Ay, surprisingly I didn’t have to take my clothes off this time. You’ll be returning those coins, yeah? Or are you going to make me work even harder to put food in my gullet?”

He perked with a playful chuckle, “Oh?” but then he let his hands fall to his sides and stood up straight, broad shoulders rising and falling with a heavy sigh. “Aw, don’t play on my bleeding heart. Surely we can come up with a compromise. You did provide a great distraction, it’s only fair you get your share.” He grinned, hands moving to rest upon his hips, eyes glinting with a mixture of humor and daring. 

“Not rare enough for my tastes.” She sniped, fangs bared with a viper's intent despite the man's more relaxed approach, “Damn right I should have my share. Some of it might have ended in my pocket before the night's end. The fuck do you need it for anyways in the middle of nowhere?”

He caught the flash of fangs married with the mask and eyes akin to bloodthirst and found himself lingering upon her mouth for several beats. 

What was she?

Realizing that he had not yet answered her question, he cut the silence with a thoughtful hum to buy some time as he eased forward gently, careful to be fluid enough that he wouldn't come off aggressive. His gaze raked down her form until it reached the gil upon the ground, where he crouched and began meticulously clawing up to collect into his palm. "I'll give you half of what I have and we can part ways a little richer, and like nothing even happened. You can go back to your job and you'll never see me on your hunting ground again. Sound like a deal?"

“Hunting ground?” she damn near laughed and that is when she relaxed slightly, hand lifting to draw back the mask she had been wearing, nestling it just so at her crown, “I work here in between voyages on the Sirensong. The folk here work in weekly shifts. Much of them tend to be away from their families for long periods.” her hand lowered to motion to the gil, “The very same gil you fleeced from them is the very same they send home to their families.”

Her laugh may have made him smile some other time, and he might have allowed himself a chance to admire her more thoroughly when her mask lifted, but what words followed caused his jovial expression to drop into consideration, then a seriousness as he pushed any creeping emotion aside when she painted a broader picture. Dark brows shadowed over luminescent eyes in its furrow as he stood slowly to his full height from his scavenging crouch, duster pockets heavy with hidden stolen goods. This was not part of the plan, he reiterated to himself. The forest sounds grew loud in the silence of those thoughtful moments before he stated plainly with no explanation, save for a hint that there was something deeper still: “I cannot leave empty-handed.” He extended his hand, clawed fist slightly open, as a gesture to stay true to his previous offer.

Castien’s height drew to its full extent and her head tilted curiously, “And why is that?” she took several steps toward him without much of any fear, the light of the evening catching in her eyes; very little could get past her attention as her senses were sharper than some. Pointed ears, likely half Elezen and the feral edge to her that went undetermined but there was a predatory sense in the way she moved, the stare and how she walked – dangerously silent.

As she drew closer, a gentle breeze picked up and brought her scent to him; sweat, drink, smoke, likely all from the tavern, but then something else he couldn’t quite distinguish off the bat. He showed his free hand first in silent announcement, then moved it under the duster to a breast pocket with the same fluid movements as before. Instead of answering her question, he pleaded, “Please don’t stab me while I’m getting your share, I just got this coat stitched from the last time.” 

Step by step she took towards him was calculated and hung on the suspicion that he would try something – only a smart person would assume such from a stranger. A possibly dangerous one at that, “You didn’t answer my question.” she mused in his direction. Had it not been for her piqued attention to detail, or the fact this man just robbed people she knew, Castien certainly wouldn’t have been there at the moment nor caring why the man refused to go back empty-handed. Still, curiosity settled within her and she came to a solid 3 fulm from him and held out her hand for the share

They seemed to be at an impasse here; he did not move closer and she had come to a halt. He had the whole share, perhaps reluctant to part with it. He sighed with a frown, and eventually closed the space between them. “I haven’t gotten paid, I’ve no idea where my partner and last employer’s gone – likely dead, I suspect – and I’m on this island with nothing. So I figured it’d be an easy mark and get out. Didn’t anticipate the entertainment turning scantily-clad-security, let alone be able to catch up with me.” Gil finally left his hand and dropped it into hers.

“Great.” She huffed without much thought to her tone. Her fingers coiled along the coins and she tucked them away into a small satin pouch that hung from the sash at her waist, “Sounds like either you need a new partner or a new gig. Either way, this Island is privately owned by someone you might not want to tamper with, even more so when you’re stealing from their crew – and in some connection – her establishments.”

Castien’s free hand left her chakram briefly, motioning behind the gentleman towards the location in which they had come, she gave chase after he had left the Tavern, “I’m sure a bunch of folk back there would love to get their hands around your throat. Buuuuut, I’m feeling charitable this evening. I’ll call this square so long as you find your stalking grounds elsewhere. Your best bet is to find the next available ship out of here and be on your way.”

After she spoke and he had given back her share, he rolled his shoulders to try and release some of the tension that had built there. It never fully went away in her presence, especially standing this close. “I promise the next time you’ll see me here, I will be on my best behavior.” He flashed his fangs with a charming smile. “Well… A paying customer, at the very least.” He turned from her to go, definitely not heading back the same way he came. “A pleasure to meet you.” 

“Do you have a name?”

He had begun the motions to jog away and made it a few feet when her simple question rang out, and really, it caused his heart to skip a beat. He had figured their interaction was over with. He athletically turned a 180 heel, backing up slowly as he spoke to give them a little more distance.  “Cy,” he answered. “I hope we meet again under better circumstances soon, Cas.” He gave her a playful brow salute coupled with a wink.

There was a turn in the half Nightkin’s stance and she watched as the man before him made his move to leave but then had enough sense and respect to offer a name before leaving. 

They say that first impressions were everything and what she had happened to garner from this one in particular that the man known as ‘Cy’ wasn’t some brute who opted to lean towards aggression – certainly not as much as she had shown. He was willing to compromise and to top it off, he seemed to have struggles like every other person she had come into contact with. Perhaps not respectful but kind enough to afford a name to her, proper, when he could very well have found no purpose to owe her anything. Even something as basic as one’s name.

Depending on how some looked at it, there was power in a name.

Crimson eyes watched the Highlander take his leave and she did no pursue. Instead, Castien’s attention focused to the gil in hand as she drew her thumb over the ridge of each coin. It wasn’t enough but just enough to go back with something. Far more than empty pockets.

Tucking the gil into her back pocket she made her way back to the Smoking Crow. Jasper wasn’t about to like the news but it wasn’t as if she was returning entirely empty-handed either.

Nor was Cyrus for that matter.

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