The Point Of Exile

° addictions

The duo stick to the shadowed streets, weaving in and out of townsfolk all preoccupied with their own dealings; whatever that may be. Milan catches the gaze of a cat-eyed woman and a man drunken with etcasy hanging off her side. The woman flashes a wink and a seductive grin at Milan before returning her attention to the man, smothering him in seductive words, her breasts mashed against him.

Gross.

Milan looks away in disgust, diverting back to her thoughts and allowing Flynn to lead the way. She clutches his hand tightly, for fear of being drug away and lost to the crowds.

In truth, it would be easy to allow herself to be swept away. Carried off by the crowds, never to see these men again. But the memory of that man from earlier is like a snake bite with no procedure to find relief. She can still see the shadows curling around his distorted face and the subtle glimpse of slate grey eyes. He was a threat, she knows so. But how? The answer to that is something she is much less sure about.

Besides, with no horse to trade for money and none of the jewelry she stashed in the saddle packs either, there is no way for her to support herself. She can't sew, mend or knit. Her physique wouldn't allow for manual labor, and farming or tending animals wouldn't suit her either. She'd drown in a world like this.

The only thing going well for her at the moment is that these men believe they have her waiting to be sold off like a prize pig to the highest bidder. Not that she'll stick around long enough to even hear of an offer.

Just long enough to figure out what she wants, and how to get it.

She shakes her head, mulling about in her own mind as they walk. A sudden yank against her arm has her whirling around a corner and pressed against the wall. She's startled out of her thoughts with a yelp, and she glares up at Flynn as he presses a finger to her lips to silence her.

"Shhhh," he hushes, staring intently out into the street. Milan blinks at him with wide eyes, a blatant uproar burning in her gaze.

What in the Sam hell? She thinks indignantly.

"There's someone following us, we need to let them pass."

She yanks her lips away from his grubby hands and whispers furiously, "What do you mean someone's following us? "

"Hush," he silences her again.

Boy, does that grind her gears. Milan puffs her chest up hotly, ready to fire back a savage retort, but decides against it. Perhaps it would better serve her to let Flynn handle this. Who knows who this 'stalker' is? Maybe it's someone out to rob them, more likely it's just a harmless misunderstanding.

She hopes for the latter.

But when a cloaked figure stops in front of the alley, glaring them down and flicking a sliver blade into their petit, slender hand, Milan knows her hope was misplaced.

"Merda-" Flynn curses abruptly, taking hold of Milan's hand again as they sprint down the alley. They take a few hasty turns, trying to weave through the narrow streets as erratically as possible.

As they dive deeper into the dark corridor, Milan yelps, running face-first into a silken spider web. She frantically brushes it from her skin, pulling away from Flynn's grasp to do so.

It feels like the strings are caught up everywhere, tangled in her hair and tickling her nose. She furiously swipes at the cobwebs, stumbling along the alley in an attempt at keeping up with Flynn, whose footsteps have become eerily silent.

In fact, she can't even hear him at all.

Milan realizes this with a start, and her eyes fly open in shock.