Chapter 6 (Continued)

[AftermathGM]

Georg, unperturbed by Ishan's efforts to hurt his foot—Rocky and Finch both have stomped on it much harder than this—presses his arm against the door, forcing it open until the chain is taut with no apparent effort. "Let's start with this: You can open this door or lose it. What's it going to be?"

Seeing Georg attempting to enter the residence, Asra makes a quick gesture and a guillotine of hardened light cleaves through the chain with a sizzling POP. "It looks to me like he'll be opening the door whether he wants to or not," she mutters darkly. Looking to Georg, her face takes on a pleasant air as she gestures towards the unlocked door. "After you, good sir."

Her eyes flutter as she puts a hand to her head. For such a small spell, it seemed to have sapped much of her energy. Furrowing her brow, she does her best to focus on the task at hand, blinking to alleviate her sudden double-vision.

Ishan's initial choice has nothing to do with opening the door. He leans his not insignificant weight against the door, desperate to get Georg to remove his foot, but then Asra's spell neatly bisects the chain. With a wordless moan of despair, he takes his weight off the door.

Before he can say anything else though, two men approach from behind. Neither is as large as Georg or even Ishan, but they're big enough to likely intimidate most average citizens. They wear no uniform, they carry no insignia. Some of Meriava's neighborhoods have standing local peacekeeping groups -- some might call them militias -- that have grown in power since the Wards went up and the Shining Guard's influence has retreated toward the wealthier districts. These two are probably part of one of these groups.

"Mind explaining what's going on and why you're forcing your way into this citizen's home?' one says, a human man with dark hair in a ponytail and broad shoulders. His comrade, shorter and wider with a mop of shaggy blond hair and a chiseled jawline, has a sturdy baton in his hand but says nothing.

[AftermathGM]

Still, she does not need to reach too far to find the meek tone again as she nods, and answers, "Yes. I understand. I won't try anything."

The woman nods once, seeming satisfied. She moves around back again and works to undo Iana's right hand. There's strength in her hands, no question, and she makes quick work of the restraints. As they're loosened, Iana feels the return of full blood flow, her fingers tingling and sparking with pinpricks of discomfort. The restraints weren't tied so tightly that it was entirely cut off, but it's still a welcome feeling to be free at least partly.

Her captor of the moment pushes a box over, the scraping loud in the small room, then sets the tray on it. The items there are within Iana's reach, but the woman stands a few steps back. Iana could throw the cup at her, but it's too light to make much of an impact other than making her mad. Likewise for the tray. Maybe with a good full swing it might open a cut or something, but she's solidly built. It would take more than that to incapacitate her, unless somehow Iana could take advantage of the impairment on her left side.

"Eat and drink what you like. I'll take it all away when you're done."

She watches silently, arms folded over her chest as she studies Iana with some idle curiosity.

[Asralynn Beauchaud]

Before he can say anything else though, two men approach from behind. Neither is as large as Georg or even Ishan, but they're big enough to likely intimidate most average citizens. They wear no uniform, they carry no insignia. Some of Meriava's neighborhoods have standing local peacekeeping groups -- some might call them militias -- that have grown in power since the Wards went up and the Shining Guard's influence has retreated toward the wealthier districts. These two are probably part of one of these groups.

"Mind explaining what's going on and why you're forcing your way into this citizen's home?' one says, a human man with dark hair in a ponytail and broad shoulders. His comrade, shorter and wider with a mop of shaggy blond hair and a chiseled jawline, has a sturdy baton in his hand but says nothing.

Asra's unfocused eyes narrow as she observes the two militia members. She takes a deep breath, putting a hand on Georg's shoulder as both a means of assuring him that she'll handle this and to steady herself. "Don't let him out of your sight, we can't risk him slipping away," she tells him under her breath.

She stands still as she faces them, not risking movement that could send her head reeling again, which has the added benefit of making her seem very confident and at ease... even if she wasn't. "Gentlemen, we are investigating an abduction," She informs them with an authoritative tone. "I ask you not to interfere. We simply have a few questions for Mr. Veriti here that must be answered promptly."

[Georg Elsebethson]

It's a good thing Georg is using a measured amount of force to hold the door open, otherwise he might have smashed Ishan's nose with it as Asra severs the chain. He keeps one eye on Ishan and the other on the approaching gentlemen with clubs. They have the air and stances of guards, and ones who are used to having their status expected. Tricky. The Shining Guard has its faults, but Georg feels as though he at least knows what to expect from them. These local watches can vary dramatically based on who's running the show and how seriously they take safeguarding their community. Some of them were probably more honorable than the Guard, while others were basically criminal gangs with pretensions towards respectability.

Whichever these are, Asra indicates that she's handling it, so Georg decides to take her at her word. He gives Ishan a look. "We're drawing attention now," he says, sotto voce. "You sure you don't wanna just tell us where she is before this becomes a whole scene?"

[AftermathGM]

She stands still as she faces them, not risking movement that could send her head reeling again, which has the added benefit of making her seem very confident and at ease... even if she wasn't. "Gentlemen, we are investigating an abduction," She informs them with an authoritative tone. "I ask you not to interfere. We simply have a few questions for Mr. Veriti here that must be answered promptly."

Whichever these are, Asra indicates that she's handling it, so Georg decides to take her at her word. He gives Ishan a look. "We're drawing attention now," he says, sotto voce. "You sure you don't wanna just tell us where she is before this becomes a whole scene?"

"Investigating an abduction? Or performing one? Kinda looks like you're the ones about to do the abducting," the mouthpiece says. "See, we know everyone who lives 'round here and I've never seen you two folks before. M. Veriti here, though, he's an upstanding citizen of the Tumbledown. Pays his neighborhood fees and everything. So I'm inclined to believe him over you two." As he says this he also takes a similar baton off his belt. "What do you say, M. Veriti? You want us to have these two folks leave you alone?" he calls to Ishan.

"Yes!" Ishan shouts from inside his home. More quietly, he says to Georg in a voice so tense it might snap at any moment. "I tell you where she is, I die. You're one big son of a bitch but you don't look like a killer. So I'm going to take my chances and keep my mouth shut, if it's all right by you."

The two militia members give Asra expectant looks, turning aside to allow free passage past them if she and Georg should decide to take it.

[Georg Elsebethson]

"Yes!" Ishan shouts from inside his home. More quietly, he says to Georg in a voice so tense it might snap at any moment. "I tell you where she is, I die. You're one big son of a bitch but you don't look like a killer. So I'm going to take my chances and keep my mouth shut, if it's all right by you."

The two militia members give Asra expectant looks, turning aside to allow free passage past them if she and Georg should decide to take it.

Georg could quibble about the definition of "killer" and try to put a tough face on, but Ishan is right in every way that matters. Despite all his training, Georg hasn't actually killed a person, and he isn't of a mind to start. "That's as may be, but you're telling me the person you handed her over to is a killer. Is her death all right by you?" Georg snorts. "And don't expect me to believe that they'll just let her go if they'd be that quick to kill you."

[AftermathGM]

The door is open enough by now for Georg to get the full look at Ishan.

He certainly doesn't know the man at all, but if he was forced to lay a wager, Georg would say that Ishan looks absolutely terrible. Georg has seen plenty of people fighting powerful nausea, the pale green-tinged skin and the way they keep trying to find some moisture in their mouth without swallowing anything. There was that time that Sophie snuck a bottle of their father's whiskey from his office, drank too much of it -- she was 13 and three fingers was enough to make her miserable -- and Georg was the one to find her hiding in abject misery in her room. Ishan looks a little bit like that, sick and guilty and terrified and yes, in abject misery.

Georg's words hit him like physical blows. He even flinches. "She has information they need. I'm not useful to them any more. They..." he says weakly, one final attempt to resist, but he realizes how ridiculous it is. Once they have the information they need, she'll be just like him. Not useful to them any more and dead Obsidians tell no tales. That's one thing they teach Scholars. Keep hold of anything you can use to bargain for your life.

Or your comrade's life.

Ishan bows his head. "There's a factor's office on Hunter's Street, south of Baker's Alley in upper Dockside. The sign in front says 'C. Occapinda, Trade Services'. They'll have her in there, though where exactly I'm not sure. The front will be well guarded, but I'm not certain about the back. They'll take good enough care of her as long--" His voice breaks and he tries again. "As long as she cooperates and gives them some of what they want."

Impulsively, he reaches out for Georg's arm. Whether or not Georg pulls away, Ishan says, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Will you tell Iana? I may not see her again. She wouldn't want to see me again regardless. But I'm truly sorry. I never should have..." His hand falls as does his gaze. "Doesn't matter. What's done is done. Please help my friend."

[Ianaeveli Tigenet]

The woman nods once, seeming satisfied. She moves around back again and works to undo Iana's right hand. There's strength in her hands, no question, and she makes quick work of the restraints. As they're loosened, Iana feels the return of full blood flow, her fingers tingling and sparking with pinpricks of discomfort. The restraints weren't tied so tightly that it was entirely cut off, but it's still a welcome feeling to be free at least partly.

Iana tries to hold back the breath of relief that comes when the short-haired woman unbinds her hand. Even more, she tries to keep the tremor out of that breath.

But she fails, on both counts.

Still, the decrease in discomfort is so great that she cannot even dwell on that shame for long. She flexes her long fingers, working the circulation back into them and the stiffness out.

Her captor of the moment pushes a box over, the scraping loud in the small room, then sets the tray on it. The items there are within Iana's reach, but the woman stands a few steps back. Iana could throw the cup at her, but it's too light to make much of an impact other than making her mad. Likewise for the tray. Maybe with a good full swing it might open a cut or something, but she's solidly built. It would take more than that to incapacitate her, unless somehow Iana could take advantage of the impairment on her left side.

"Eat and drink what you like. I'll take it all away when you're done."

She watches silently, arms folded over her chest as she studies Iana with some idle curiosity.

The time it takes her to flex her fingers gives Iana the chance to run through a few more calculations. Not that she is seriously considering attacking the water-bearer, but even those brief seconds of thought remind Iana that she really is not in any condition to physically overpower anyone right now.

First things first, though: scratching her nose. And her eyes.

Then, drinking the water, and eating the food. No telling how long she is going to be here - although she hopes that someone is coming for her soon, soon, please, soon! - and she cannot afford to get her thinking even more cloudy from hunger or thirst.

And maybe the silence will get her new captor to say something? Not that this taciturn woman seems to be the sort who would feel awkward in silence, but Iana can hope...

[Georg Elsebethson]

Ishan bows his head. "There's a factor's office on Hunter's Street, south of Baker's Alley in upper Dockside. The sign in front says 'C. Occapinda, Trade Services'. They'll have her in there, though where exactly I'm not sure. The front will be well guarded, but I'm not certain about the back. They'll take good enough care of her as long--" His voice breaks and he tries again. "As long as she cooperates and gives them some of what they want."

Impulsively, he reaches out for Georg's arm. Whether or not Georg pulls away, Ishan says, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Will you tell Iana? I may not see her again. She wouldn't want to see me again regardless. But I'm truly sorry. I never should have..." His hand falls as does his gaze. "Doesn't matter. What's done is done. Please help my friend."

Ishan looks like about the most wretched man in Meriava, all the more wretched because he knows exactly what kind of a wretch he is. Georg can't quite find it within himself to feel sympathy for the man, however. Maybe it's different in Obsidian, but in Granite, the importance of standing by your comrades is drilled relentlessly. One person breaking doesn't just leave an opening for the enemy, it makes it that much more likely that the next person will break, and so on until morale is in shambles and the unit is in full rout.

Still, he's trying to make up for it now, for whatever that's worth, so Georg doesn't pull away immediately when he reaches for his arm. "It won't mean a damn thing coming from me," he says. "But for whatever it's worth, I'll tell you. If you really want to make things right, stay alive in case she does decide to let you make amends."

With that, he pulls away and goes to Asra. "We've got what we need," he says quietly, then more loudly to the guards: "Apologies for disruptin' the peace, gentlemen, we'll be on our way." Then, because he can't help himself: "Don't worry, you won't be seeing our faces in this part of town anymore."

[Asralynn Beauchaud]

With that, he pulls away and goes to Asra. "We've got what we need," he says quietly, then more loudly to the guards: "Apologies for disruptin' the peace, gentlemen, we'll be on our way." Then, because he can't help himself: "Don't worry, you won't be seeing our faces in this part of town anymore."

"You're terrible," Asra chides Georg sotto voce, though the relief she feels at knowing they have a location is enough to take the edge out of her voice as Georg jokes about her illusion magic.

Asra tries to take a step, but the vertigo of her spellcasting returns. She has to grab Georg's arm to steady herself, but she is determined not to make a fool of herself here. Clutching Georg's arm for support, she leads the two of them silently past the guards.