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 Posted: Mon Sep 19, 2016 5:02 am
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Posted: Mon Sep 19, 2016 5:03 am
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Posted: Wed Sep 28, 2016 5:06 pm
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Posted: Thu Sep 29, 2016 5:15 pm
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Posted: Sun Oct 02, 2016 8:19 am
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Posted: Fri Oct 14, 2016 3:02 pm
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Posted: Fri Oct 14, 2016 6:35 pm
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Posted: Sun Dec 11, 2016 5:55 pm
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Posted: Sun Jan 08, 2017 9:04 am
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Posted: Thu Feb 09, 2017 9:52 am
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ღ ❅ I Pick All My Skirts ღ ❅
[ To Be A Little Too Sexy ]
“Ey…” The hand which latched onto Jakkoa’s wrist was thick-fingered, gloved, and spared him no force of grip, catching tight enough in that instant to lock him to where he’d been and effectively halting him in his tracks. “C’mon doll,” the man leered, ‘smiling’ as he did, “didn’t we just get started talking? Don’t be rude. Nothing but cold and loneliness out there for either of us, mm?” When he pulled, ‘encouraging’ Jak toward him, there was little immediate choice but to take a stumbled step in that direction. “Stay a spell.”
To put the situation in context, Jakkoa often mingled with the crowds of whatever town, city, or settlement he and Hargitt made it to in their traveling. That was the point, after all: to meet and inquire with the locals, and gather as much information as he could, hoping to find healers, fellow travelers, and observants who might know anything of use to take with him going forward. Over the course of such inquiries and minglings, Jak also — sometimes — continued certain habits and practices he’d taken up towards the end of his travels with his parents.
That is to say, after business was done, he saw no harm in garnering extra favors of various sorts if the opportunity presented itself. He was young, attractive, friendly, and travelers were often ‘lonely’ as this man suggested and generally happy to compensate him for his time and attention. But Jakkoa made such determinations on a case by case basis, only catered to those that it pleased him to do so with, and as a general matter didn’t put overly much thought into either other people’s expectations or potential involved risks.
It was his show, and it had never occurred to him that anyone might mistakenly conclude otherwise.
This man, Barath Dayle if he remembered correctly from the beginning of their conversation, was an iceling. Large, in every observable aspect, and geared for hunting. He claimed to hail from Zidel, but with connections ‘all over’ and certainly enjoyed talking—mostly about himself. And touching—mostly without permission. While Jakkoa had no problems listening, and wanted to for the sake of learning what he could, this particular man’s company, though promising at first, had lead so far only to disappointing ends, and thus he’d taken it upon himself to politely excuse himself.
Barath was having none of it.
Jakkoa debated, weighing his options there before, at least for the moment, opting to humor him. Just a few minutes longer would not hurt, and he could take the time to wean himself further away from the man’s hands before making his exit. Surely preferable, he thought, to making a scene now. It was often easier to explain ‘no’ slowly and by context clues rather than sparking someone to immediate offense by doing it outright.
Except that a slow weaning away wasn’t what occurred. The moment he cooperated, Barath gave another toothier grin and dragged him closer still, half into his lap at the bar stool he’d perched himself on.
“Thaaaat’s the spirit,” he said, nose tucking up against the back of Jak’s ear and spare hand patting his thigh. “See that wasn’t so hard was it? Ey, boys?” The latter of the two comments, spoken louder, was addressed to his accompanying band of three or four others scattered down the line of the front counter near to him, and at the prompting, they gave varying noises of affirmation, though their expressions run the gamut from completely disinterested to amused-at-Jakkoa’s-expense.
None of it, however, was particularly reassuring.
Jak shifted his weight, attempting to slip from the uncomfortable half-perch on the man’s lap. “I think—”
Barath’s grip, however, tightened and re-adjusted, forcibly shifting him upwards again and this time firmly tucking Jak’s back against him. “How about you don’t think so much, mm? Might hurt yourself, and why worry a pretty hair on your head when you can leave that to others?” His voice dropped some, though still perfectly audible Jak’s ears only at the close distance. “Besides…we both know what you came in here for, and the gods don’t smile on little ne'er do wells that don’t deliver on their promises…so how’s about you just sit tight while I finish this drink, and then we’ll see if we can get to know each other a bit better, what do you say?”
Jakkoa’s pulse began to climb, the first hints of real anger joining the undercurrent of confusion already present. “The gods,” he repeated, openly dubious. After all of half a second where he debated whether or not to go the fully blunt route, he did. “I don’t believe in any gods that care whether or not I sleep with you, if that is what I was meant to conclude from that, and I don’t—”
It was evidently not what Barath wanted to hear. When the grip on him tightened again, however, this time edging towards the line of painful, the previous faint underpinnings of concern in Jakkoa swelled, over doubling in his gut and giving an uncomfortable slosh.
“Let me use simpler words then for you, mm? I’ve paid for your drink, listened to you natter, and given you all the piddling answers about these parts as was in my ability to. I came here tonight for a good time, and I intend to have one. If it comes to my attention you’ve wasted my time, well…I just don’t know how I’ll feel about it, and we—you, me, and my company here—can have a men’s fight when I, ah, ‘find out’ that you’ve only been sittin’ in my lap to steal my coin like we all might have expected all along of a wandering hybrid strumpet…”
Jakkoa breathed out.
“Or,” Barath continued, “we could put this whole little misunderstanding behind us right now between us and no one has to get hurt.”
As thick, gloved fingers tucked a lock of blonde behind Jakkoa’s ear and proceeded to trace a slow line up the length of it, he held rigidly still, gaze locked to the countertop. He hadn’t stolen anything, of course. But he wasn’t naive enough to think that that mattered under the circumstances. Just as the man implied, it would be his word — as a hybrid, a wanderer, and a salesman — against Barath’s — as a pure iceling, a native, and a familiar face. He wasn’t an especially small man, and for that among other reasons, Jak couldn’t recall a single time he had ever felt this specific fear: that he might be overpowered, hurt, or taken advantage of in part because he lacked the physical strength to avoid it.
But it was true here. Because though he wasn’t petite, Jak wasn’t a large man either, and Barath outsized him to much the same degree Hargitt did.
So, despite the hard thud of his pulse in his throat — anger, anger, anger dominating over every other emotion — he smiled as he tipped his head, and relaxed back against his captor. “I am sorry,” he said, adopting a softer, placating tone. “I think I misspoke. And I certainly meant no offense—I have nowhere to be for the evening…”
Whether or not Barath ‘bought’ it mattered little so long as he was contented enough to tone down his aggression in the proceeding minutes, and after a moment of consideration, he seemed to be, his teeth flashing in a predatory grin before he leaned to touch his lips to Jak’s neck. “There you go, aye? Better to be on the same side of things…”
Ignoring the prickle of disgust that ran under his skin at the touch, he maintained his smile—and proceeded that way through the night, or at least that portion of it. He cooperated with Barath’s touches, laughed at his ‘jokes’, and responded only favorably to future inquiries until the man did, finally, seem satisfied that they’d spent enough time at the bar portion of the establishment. Walking with him — away from the festivities, up stairs, and down the hall of the lodging portion of the building — was almost surreal. On the one hand, his pulse felt alive, as though it were beating not merely in his chest but through all of him at once, and the walk was a tunnel—to execution or the stage of his starring role in a grand act. He couldn’t be sure which yet.
The finality with which Barath’s door shut behind him, however, was sobering, and as surely as that, they were alone together. Jak’s eyes scanned the room as Barath drew him in. The man was saying something, pressing the words to his throat as his hands gripped lower, and then:
“Well?”
Jakkoa’s gaze snapped back in to focus on the man before him, and Barath’s eyebrows arched expectantly as he brought a hand in, catching beneath Jak’s chin and then skirting a thumb over his lip.
“You’ve had a whole lot to say tonight…why don’t you do something more useful with your mouth, mm? And all our disagreements aside I’ll make it worth your while.”
Jakkoa’s breath felt as though it had a beat of its own as it left his lips. For all of a handful of seconds, he stood still. Then, with what he deeply hoped passed for a ‘defeated’ smile, he sank to his knees—and drove his fist into the man’s genitals. In the immediate instant afterward as Barath staggered, Jak scrambled up, clasping his fists together and bashing at the back of the man’s neck while he was still bent over—enough at least to bring him fully, temporarily, to the floor. And from there Jak darted to the bedside counter, snatching up the candleholder there, and bashing with that until, in the aftermath of what would at the bare minimum leave substantial gross bruising in its wake, if not some variety of concussion, he stood shaking, staring, and waiting.
Barath did not move.
The rise and drop of his sides, however, suggested he was at least breathing.
Only once fully convinced that the man was thoroughly unconscious, though, did Jakkoa relax his posture in the slightest, and from there he couldn’t have been sure whether he was calmer, or more riled on principle. There was a brief temptation to scream. Not out of any fear remaining but simply to scream because it felt as though one was there in his chest and mind and throat begging for the world.
But he did not want to draw any undue attention to the room. Though his most immediate issue was resolved, drawing the eyes of Barath’s cohorts or other concerned inn patrons was nothing he needed. So instead, Jak tossed the candle holder to the bed, and knelt. He located Barath’s coin purse, took that, found the man’s knife — inspected it for quality, found it good — and took that. He cut free every button which looked to potentially have any metal of value and took those, then continued to cut, slicing periodic and numerous tears into man’s clothing all over — not nitching his skin, but seeing to it that what he left in his wake was completely valueless due to the shredding. And finally, after satisfying himself that he’d taken anything of value on the man’s person, he took a quick survey of the room — a lucrative endeavor wherein he pocketed more coin and one ring in particular which looked as though it would sell especially well on a Zenan market.
Then, he spat on the man’s ear, maneuvered the man’s body around with his foot until he was satisfied he at least wouldn’t drown in his own spittle while unconscious, and left.
A tight, excited anger still burned in his chest as he left the building’s premises, and he could not remember ever having been quite so incensed. But, once well out of sight of the place, the ring did look pretty on his own finger if nothing else, and he had enough coin to at least treat himself and Hargitt to a few conciliatory niceties of one form or another.
He would, though, have to make certain Hargitt understood they needed to make it out of this particular town immediately.
Word Count: 2,078
Quote: Jakkoa has always had a strong vein of independence and is far from being gullible. But despite a healthy dose of skepticism for the world, and despite living through certain varieties of struggle, Jak has been lucky enough to have never had his sometimes risky behavior backfire on him directly. Before traveling with Hargitt, he always had the immediately available fallback of his family on hand. Now he is further from home, and even with Hargitt, Jak is more ‘on his own’ than he has ever been before. This solo is meant to emphasize to Jak the gravity of some of the risks he takes and force him to, going forward, consider that not only does everyone not necessarily have his best interests in mind (which he of course knew already) but that some people might genuinely be willing or ready to hurt him (something he was aware of, but often fails to consider: chasing after giant men [Uzu] without weighing risks, or being content to lay about with a broken ankle in the den of a complete stranger who lives in a tree [Barhin]). After this, he will be hopefully putting more thought into certain situations going forward and be less ready to simply assume no one will actually hurt him. |
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Posted: Mon May 08, 2017 2:15 pm
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Posted: Mon May 08, 2017 2:18 pm
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Posted: Sun Nov 26, 2017 4:03 pm
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Posted: Sun Nov 26, 2017 5:47 pm
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Posted: Wed Jul 04, 2018 1:28 pm
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