Breaking the Bondage

[AsukaStrikes]

((All bunnies given permission by both parties for the duration of this quest - and oh, there will be a heck lot of it))

"...Everetum Separati..."

No no no, that's not right...

Weathered wheels creaked lazily as the lonely merchant wagon rolled along the grassy highway, heading north through the emerald canopies of Concordia. The cool breeze sweeping through the trees filled the tiny wagon and its travellers, greeting them as they made way towards the hub of Corone. The kindly antique seller whom they hitched a ride with was also in a very good mood today, humming quietly to himself a song the travelling merchants sing to greet each town as they pass through.

Asuka was, however, not in any mood to be happy.

It had been several days now since the fateful blunder in Serenti and the two fighters - herself and the washed-out boxer Victor Callahan - had to high-tail out of town. Getting in a fight with the local battle organizer was not a good move to begin with, expecially when it involved a knife in the back, dangerous gangster-types and a slave trade running through town.

Then again, this was exactly the case why these two wayward wanderers got themselves involved in this mess.

"Argh... Who would've thought reading could be this difficult?!" Asuka bursted out loud in frustration, scratching the back of her head and slamming the piece of parchment on the wagon bed in exasperation. Behind her, the canvas sack serving as her itchy make-shift pillow sat idly in a corner, its contents unorganized and slightly torn. She had taken out one of the more "readable" documents and scanned through the articles, noting down the names of taverns and lumber yards the slave route passed through. However, that was just about as much as she could understand.

Having grown up around the more neglected area of Akashima, the lass had little opportunity to attend a school with close to respectable education standards. She also saw even less reason to go to one in the first place, preferring more to hang around her father's workshop.

I knew I should've paid more attention in class... The redhead sighed half-heartedly, staring blankly out the back of the hooded wagon at the small hole through the trees. Over and over again, she thought about her actions and try to make sense of any of her recent actions.

Nothing seemed to make complete sense - Her main reason for even being outside Akashima was to look for a certain young girl of noble birth by the name "Yamihara Asuka" and so far all she could find were rumors of her existence. Why in the world did she got involved in the struggles of the locals? Why should she care about the lives of other people when her own life was at stake? Why should she care to bring along this boxer on her little crusade?

The answer was as oblivious to her as to their destination. But, still, it was better than travelling alone like she use to do.

"Hey, Victor. Can you read this? I can't make heads or tail of this piece of garbage."

At least the guy should be able to read something,,she thought. That guy probably isn't as dumb as he looked.

[The Cinderella Man]

((All bunnies okd by both parties for the duration of the entire quest.))

Traveling with Asuka certainly wasn’t the most eventful journey that Victor Callahan partook in. Though quite brassy when she had a bug up her ass, usually the redhead was the polar opposite of a chatterbox. She kept to herself, hid her thoughts behind that strict façade and seemed quite comfortable with the rattle of the carriage wheels as the only sound. Given the fact that Victor was no magpie himself, the conversations between the two were mostly just the basic, one-sentence exchanges that ended before they properly begun. Even though they officially traveled together, there seemed to be an invisible barrier that kept a constant distance between the two, preserving the frigid, professional formality. The boxer tried to instill some vague companionship, tried to make contact to that girl that must’ve existed beyond the adamant outside, but he was as successful as a barefooted man trying to climb a glacier.

He couldn’t blame her though. He wasn’t exactly a prince charming that rode in on his white steed to sweep her off her feet. If anything, it was Asuka who swept his from beneath him, what with her undisputed authority, her boldness that seemed on a threshold of lunacy sometimes and her determination. The swordmaiden had a goal in her life – a compass that Victor lost with the loss of Delilah – and her cocky demeanor made it certain that nothing would stand between her and that which she pursued. He respected that... No, he admired it, to see this rather skinny tomboy walk around, giving everybody a piece of her mind, and it was that esteem that made him stick around, made him try to chisel his way to the soft core. If the redhead actually had one.

The other reason why he decided to play the role of her cannon fodder was the fact – and it was a fact – that whether or not she wanted to admit it, Asuka was walking through a minefield. And while her lucky charm worked so far, Victor was pretty certain that she was bound to take a bite of more then she could chew sooner or later. She almost did that back in Serenti, where the two of them took on Ermano Worth, the battle organizer, and the platoon of his lackeys. The redhead would’ve never admitted it, but the fact of the matter was that she would up unconscious at the end of the day, and he had to lumber her body someplace safe. It was a close call and the boxer was pretty certain that the next one was bound to be even closer. After all, they were making their way to Underwood for a reason. Apparently, somewhere within the Concordia metropolis were the headquarters of the slave traders whose agent was the recently dispatched – by courtesy of Asuka – Ermano Worth.

They were trucking slowly through the continuously vibrant landscape of Concordia forest today, and even though it was their second day spent in the back of the rather uncomfortable wagon of a benevolent merchant, Victor’s spirits were still pretty much up. The fresh, aromatic coolness of the forest was all around them, the soothing sounds of the wild life managing to overcome the sound of the wooden wheels running down the dirt road and Asuka seemed a bit disconcerted by the contents of the documents they nicked from the dead battle organizer. And while the prizefighter by no means liked to see her disturbed, he had to admit that any display of emotions made the redhead look more human. And it was a much prettier sight then the unsmiling face and the keen eyes that he knew very well by now.

When she asked him to decipher the writing on the parchment that she held in her hands though, Victor was a bit surprised. Asuka, the self-assured queen of headstrongness and purdah, seemed semi-illiterate. Most men in his position would put on a gloating smirk on their face, finally finding some sick satisfaction in this fraction of dominance over the female, but the prizefighter had no such issues. He diverted his eyes from the forest that he observed through the opening in the back of the wagon, looked at the girl with an utterly casual look and leant forward from his sitting place on the opposite side of the wagon. He picked up the parchment wordlessly, studying it for a couple of seconds before he spoke.

“Hmm... I think this is actually a set of instructions for the slave traders. See, it clearly states which ones should go where...” he tried to explain, setting the parchment on the wooden floor of the carriage and pointing with his finger on the destinations and the types of slaves that should be deposited there. However, seeing that Asuka could only see the paper upside down, Victor got up doggedly and sat next to her, holding up the parchment. Once situated, he restarted, watchful that his tone doesn’t come out patronizing or too casual.

“Here we are. It seems that every place has customers that have certain preferences. For example, Four Brave Souls tavern in Bradbury that we passed yesterday insists on blonde and chestnut haired girls, from fifteen to twenty-one years of age.” Victor spoke, following up the uttered information with the corresponding section in on the unfolded paper.

“There are...” he paused, counting the names under the section marked with bold Underwood. “...seven places in Underwood that are involved in this trade, each with a set of preferences of their own.”

He stopped and looked at Asuka’s face that was now substantially closer to his own, her green eyes unsurprisingly frowned and intrepid. “That’s a lot of pissed off slavers, wildcat. Do you intend to pay a visit to each and every one of them? Maybe this is a matter best left to the local authority. Underwood is in the middle of Concordia; there are bound to be some Rangers there and trust me, they know how to deal with the slaver scum.”

The prizefighter concluded with a smirk, reminiscing the time when he got into trouble up to his ears and the Corone Ranger, led by Letho Ravenheart, saved his bacon that was about to be fried by the slavers. He handed over the parchment to his companion before he spoke again: “What’s your beef with these slavers anyways? I mean, I don’t like them either, but I don’t think charging against the lot of them for the common good is the smartest move.”

[AsukaStrikes]

Victor proved quite useful in more than just one way, but still the lass didn't want to outright admit it. She blamed her lack of education on being a woman growing up in the dregs, where the nobles tread on other people's toes and stuck their nose in the air oblivious to the silent protests from the lower classes. Still, the Akashiman "dregs" were a lot better compared to the rest of the world. However, that was not the point.

It was bad enough her kind was being put through the worst experience in their lives. She wasn't about to let anyone partonize her, even if it was te person who saved her life. Knowing that Victor saved her behind back in Serenti was more humility she could put up with.

"Well, thank you, Mister Scholar. I could have read the rest myself." Asuka snorted and snatched the parchment from the boxer's hand even as he handed it over to her politely, staring into his chocolate orbs only a few inches away. She was a little irritated by the fact she had to rely on more help from him than she wanted, still something deep down inside told her to be grateful. Besides, it wasn't an everyday thing some stranger would accompany her on a suicide mission no one asked to do. In fact, even if someone had specifically pleaded to Asuka to help, she would throw it back in their face and walk away. Then again, this was no everyday thing.

"And there you go again, Padre. Leaving it to the authority." The swordmaiden sighed dismissively and leaned back against the rough canvas sack. She was just about had it with the prizefighter's pacifist view, nor did she care how good the Coronian Rangers were. "Do you think these bastards would still be around had the Rangers intervened already? I heard these guys are good, but while this trade route still existed it must mean they've turned a blind eye."

"Besides, what's it to you? This is personal..." Asuka turned away from Victor's inquisitive gaze, frowning nervously. She kind of regretted being so harsh with her response because he had been so tolerant with her bull-headed and suicidal demeanor. She was sure most men would just steer clear of her even at first glance, the news of her making the Serenti Semi-finals enough to scare anyone away. Either that this Victor guy was suicidal as well, which was probably not a case, or he had never heard of the Serenti Invitational she could only guess. All she knew was that he was along for the ride and thus not in a position to question her motive.

"This is something I have to do, that's all. And I'll make damn sure to check every single hellhole there is to find until I'm satisfied. You gotta problem with that?"

Sure, he would have a problem with that. Everyone does. Asuka stuffed the note back into her sack and drew out her blade, examining the minute chips on the edges. Kazeryu had always been faithful to the lass no matter where she went - even when separated he did not let the girl down. In fact, the lass believed Kazeryu was the only object she could trust her life in. He was, after all, made by the unrelenting hands of her own father. All I need to find is that Yamihara girl, right, Kazeryu? Who cares if a few other girls got loose along the way.

Still, as Asuka looked into her reflection on the polished edges of her sword, a glimpse of that fading old man kept appearing and vanishing with the turn of her sword. It could be some kind of wierd magical-thing someone had put on her, or even her own mind playing tricks. It was unnerving enough to not let her sleep easily at night, however, and the lass concluded to to just slip her sword back into his sheath and wiped her sweaty brows.

Oh, come on! Snap out of it! Asuka slapped her hands across her cheeks a few times before shaking away the tension, turning her attention towards the pacifist mountain of a man. "I don't care what you choose. Either you're in on this like you said or you can just say bye now and get out of my sight."

Argh, what is wrong with me today... The forest breeze was cool and comfortable, yet the maiden felt her temperature rising steadily inside. Maybe it's just the damned cold... Bah. Whatever. That which can't kill me will only make me stronger...

[The Cinderella Man]

There was garlic in her voice – maybe a touch more then usual – and it would’ve been a lie if Victor said it didn’t hurt him a little bit. He could take a punch in more ways then just the physical; he could take in the harsh words and the despising looks and even mockery and just bottle it up and put a cork on the bottle. But what Asuka did wasn’t just callous; it borderlined with mean. He went out on the limb to help her and he did so with utmost modesty and without any sign of patronizing, and still she scolded him as if he was a dog that just peed on her leg. Still, he took it rather stoically, even putting on a semi-amused smirk as her ever-angry face stood inches away from his own. Soon enough though, the situation was getting just heated enough for the boxer to feel she would slug him, so listening to her abrasive rant, he relocated himself to his side of the wagon and waited for her to finish.

“Ok, first off, here’s another word for your vocabulary. Proposition.” he started. Despite her bitterness, his voice was still rather phlegmatic and friendly. “I didn’t say that we should go to the Rangers. I said that we should take it into consideration. Why do you have to be so damn angry at everything all the time?”

He shook his head at the posed question, pretty certain that it was as good as if he spoke it into the wall, and then diverted his eyes from her face and towards the forest that passed by them at a steady pace. Despite the rather vivid colors and the brisk sunlight, there was a chill in the air, brought by the courtesy – or rather by the lack thereof – of the north wind that descended from the Comb Mountains. In front of them, sitting on the carriage seat with a rather content look on his face, the scrawny antiquities merchant hummed an eerily melody. Underwood was less then an hour away and he had several good items to peddle to the locals. Victor was leant against one of these items, a rather ancient looking wardrobe made out of oak, lacquered and polished almost to perfection, then wrapped in satin and canvas.

“We’ll do it your way, I don’t care.” he said after short deliberation, his voice now a bit wistful. “As for my angle in all of this... I don’t have one. It’s either helping you or back to the Radasanth arenas. The amount of beating is bound to be the same, only this way I actually get to do some good. Not to mention that the scenery is much easier on the eyes over here.”

He finished with a smirk that came out rather knavish even though he didn’t intend for it to follow what he thought as a well-measured compliment. It was bound to go to waste given the icy shell in which Asuka was clad, but he reckoned that there was an actual girl sleeping beneath the tomboy and that she might hear it. Of course, the reasons he offered as an answer were mostly bull but he reckoned that telling her he was growing to like her and that he didn’t want to see her hurt wouldn’t get him anywhere except kicked out of the wagon. So he kept silent, kept his eyes away from her own, fearing she might read the truth from them, and just hoped that these awkward silent moments pass as soon as possible.

More to simply kill the time, Victor turned his attention to his gym bag. He unzipped it, pretended like he was searching for something while he shuffled through the contents, then pulled out his water flask. He took a couple of sips from the tin vessel, then offered it to the redhead. He considered taking out some rations as well, but according to his calculations – and those were usually way off – they were bound to reach Underwood soon and that meant at least one warm meal before all the beating.

“The reason why I asked what’s your beef with the slavers was to narrow our search down. If you’re searching for something specific, someone maybe, we could track them down easier if we eliminated some of the places from that list.” the prizefighter spoke. Asuka didn’t seem impressed, but he reckoned that he could take down the moon, make a cheese omelet out of it and sprinkle it with stars, and she still wouldn’t be terribly moved.

“You don’t like me very much, do you?”

[AsukaStrikes]

The red-hair maiden listened on in stubborn silence as her travelling partner lectured like he was the girl's own father. Asuka merely gave an irritated scoff here and there, rolling her eyes at the mention of trying not to be rude. She could not help acting the way she did, having lived under the constant ridicule of others in her country. The occasional Stupid Prince Charming were mere creases in her long life of neglect and even then she knew these stuck-up bunch of men had ulterior motives. She simply was not going to have any of it.

"Whatever... " She muttered after hearing the prizefighter end the speech in his usual patronizing tone. She hated the way it sounded in her ears, but the lass simply could not do a thing about it - not counting the thought of kicking his behind off the moving wagon. She was tired from the travel. Tired of having to live like rats on the streets. Apparently all the work she had put into the Serenti was for nothing - no title granted and only a slight recognition by the pubmasters and drunks cheering on for the tourney's redhead underdog. Still, her name was largely unheard even after the encounter with Ermano Worth.

What am I doing these things for anymore... Why am I still doing this... Asuka slumped against the rough canvas sack and stared at the passing trees, the green shoots flashing by the canopy from time to time. Victor started saying something about "narrowing in the search list" but she paid little attention to the matter. Besides, the whole did not make complete sense to her now, though it seemed to be the absolutely best course of action back in Serenti where her problems started out. She knew it had something to do with that grey old man she met in a tavern, the slave trade running through the center of Corone and a certain red-hair girl who might have ended up as part of the unfortunates.

That Yamihara... Yamihara Asuka...

In some strange sense it all started to come back to the swordmaiden - the reason she had to go through all this trouble. All of this to search for an Ancient-forsakened girl who was supposed to be her twin. A twin who belonged to a prestigious noble family. As badly as she despised the nobility, Asuka needed to know if they were actually related. Sure, it seemed like an outside chance this "Yamihara" might have been enslaved in this lumber town. To her, it was good chance enough.

"Huh?!" Asuka literally twisted her neck as she snapped her twin emerald eyes at the weary-lookinh boxer. "What did you just say?!"

Me?! Like you?!? "What are you, a player?! What makes you think I liked you in the first place?!" Pushing his tin flask away, the lass nearly couldn't contain her amusement. She was a stranger to the concept of "liking" someone - not ever since her emotion was betrayed by a close friend back in her younger days. And now, the very notion of her ever liking that wimpy boxer who looked more at home digging rocks than punching people for money made her lungs ache. "Seriously, Victor. That's cute."

Asuka just simply could not keep a straight face anymore and bursted out half-coughing, half-laughing her heart out. It took her a couple minutes later of cupping her mouth and a few hacking coughs later before she finally calmed down her nerves and pulled on a straight face. "Well, Victor, that was very cute of you and all" The lass paused to sigh and cough a little, cupping her mouth the way her father had thought her many years before his death. "But let's not get carried away with that."

"However..." Asuka composed herself and steeled her nerves once again. She could not afford another one of this outburst if she was to keep her attention on the task at hand. There was no room for mistake and becoming emotional was something she would rather not have on her mind. "You have a point when you said we need to narrow down the list."

The swordmaiden twisted her lithe waist around and dropped her make-shift pillow down between them, her hands flipping the bag open to reveal a pile of scrolls and parchments inside covered in writing. "Alright, Victor. Go through this bag and tell me where will red-headed girl slaves go. I can tell you this much for now."

I can't let him know about Yamihara yet... Asuka sighed and stared into the prizefighter's eyes. Not just yet...

[The Cinderella Man]

“And the hits just keep on coming!”

A regular man would’ve been offended, even angered by Asuka’s little outburst that outright mocked Victor. A lesser man then that would probably put on a sulking face and maybe even paste her one for her acrimony mixed with contempt. What most wouldn’t do was persevere in this companionship that more and more looked like servitude. There seemed to be no bondage between Victor and Asuka, not even a platonic connection that would keep them together and keep their eyes on the task. In fact, it seemed that the more he persisted in being around her, the more she pushed him away. But the prizefighter didn’t give up. They always said that he was too dumb to know when to throw in a towel.

“Well, at least I made you laugh.” he muttered, his grin still on as he turned the whole issue into a joke. Jokes were always a good way to save yourself from a tight spot. The fact that deep down beneath, her derisive disposition stung like a stab with a rusty blade was brushed aside and as all bad emotions, jammed into the room with no windows and no doors inside his head. The only thing was, with Asuka around that room was getting more cramped with each passing minute. And yet he still liked her, more so because of this bitterness that was a mar in her demeanor. It was a sign of imperfection, an insinuation that there was something that she hid from the world, some reason why she hid her emotions like a snake hid its legs. And he wanted to be the first one to get to that something.

She complied with his suggestion to peg down the number of possible locations in the usual peremptory manner, practically ordering him to shuffle through her bag and single out the ones that had red-haired slaves as a prerequisite. Victor had a rather sarcastic remark on his tongue, something about how he couldn’t resist when a woman asked him so nicely, but he figured better to ease up on prodding the dormant wildcat for the time being. His mind offered another comment, this time about the obvious lack of trust and the need-to-know-basis information that Asuka handed out, but he shot this down as well. Trust was a fickle thing. Sometimes you had to build it for ages like a house of cards and it could still crash on your head. Sometimes you could win it in a moment. With the redhead, it was definitely the former.

“Alright, let’s see what we have here.” he said, leaning towards the duffle bag and picking up the messily deposited paperwork. There was also a scent within the sack, the semi-stale, mild odor that crawled into her extra clothes that he recognized as hers. He acknowledged it with his mind but not with his expression as he leant back and started to study the documents. Only one was really relevant, the rest being what seemed like accountant’s slips and charts that displayed the profits and the pricing for the various types of slaves. The blondes were, unsurprisingly, the most expensive, but the redheads held a firm second spot with five hundred gold pieces for a shapely specimen, three hundred for a less shapely. Victor smirked. “What about skinny and bitchy?” he thought in a strictly jovial manner, firing a glance at his companion before dropping his eyes to the relevant information.

“Hmm... There seems to be just one place in Underwood that requests red-haired slaves. The Ironclad Armory. It’s probably a front for slave peddling.” he said, his eyes double-checking the list before he was satisfied. He piled up all the documents in a neatly lined up stack, then returned the stack back into her bag. “I’ll go ask Sevelin if he knows the place.”

Pushing himself up to his feet, Victor’s bowed figure maneuvered through the priceless cargo and to the front of the wagon, where the aged merchant seemed rather content with both the time he was making and the change in the coloring of the nature as the sun began to dusk. “Sorry to bother you,” the boxer said, startling the gray geezer a little bit. “Are you familiar with a place called Ironclad Armory in Underwood?”

“I most certainly do, lad. Crappiest armory on this side of the Comb Mountains if you ask me. But then again, warfare tools aren’t exactly my expertise.” Sevelin spoke, his wrinkled, bearded face transforming from gleeful to a professionally serious. The job face, Victor thought. “I’m not going that far though. It’s in the east part of the town, I’m making my stop in the outskirts, in Three-and-a-half Stags Inn. A strange name, I know, but the mead and the waitresses there are to lick your fingers, if you know what I mean.”

The man laughed a raspy, throaty laugh and the prizefighter joined courteously with a smile of his own before he returned to the back of the wagon, where Asuka welcomed him with her usually unwelcome facial expression. “Well, maybe we should stay in this inn as well and check out this armory in the morning. No use maundering through an unknown town after nightfall. Besides, I think we could both use a warm meal after all this trucking.” Victor said, lowering himself back to his spot next to the wardrobe. A part of him expected that she would snap at him like a viper, telling him that he’s a coward and that they should make a move immediately.

[AsukaStrikes]

The Ironclad Armoury... What an original name for a whorehouse...

Asuka remained stone-faced and propped her head in her hand while Victor bumbled through the thicket of furniture and merchandise on their way to be sold, divering her emerald gaze out into the woods lazily passing by. Asuka found her travel companion's little act amusing that it tripped a little switch in the back of her mind. She thought how the enslaved girls might have felt, huddled up against each other in the back of a stuffy old wagon being wheeled around from place to place, stopping here and there to unload the "merchandise" before heading off towards the next destination. Scared. Confused. Powerless. Helpless.

The redhead lass sighed and rubbed her bare shoulders, trying to warm herself against the light autumn breeze sweeping down from the Comb Mountains through the Underwood trees. Huh... I bet those girls at least aren't the least bit cold sitting so close to each other... How could they be cold, seated shoulder against shoulder, back to back with their fellow sisters. How nice and warm it would have felt despite the inevitable damnation at the hands of men and their sick fantasies...

"Huh? What was that?" Asuka snapped back to reality as Victor finished his proposal, her furled brows hinting him a pinch of irritation. She remembered him saying something about stopping to rest up at a nearby inn for the night. Why are we stopping now that we're so close? Let's just get this thing over with and...

...And then what?

There was no point in going out so late at night, just like what that wimpy boxer reasoned to her. How were they going to tell apart one building from another in the dead of night, much less finding just that one armoury so they would know where to strike. As much as she hated to agree, Victor had a point she could not disregard.

Her angry eyes looked away from his soft, warm chocolate orbs and glared down at the worn wagon trail. "Whatever, Victor." Her voice was hushed and resigned, the usual sting somehow all but disappeared with the waning sun. Asuka simply didn't feel like arguing anymore, for some strange reason, and all she wanted to do was just get it over with. Something the lass never thought about doing before.

What's wrong with me...

~~~

"Well, this place is certainly... homely."

The rush of warmth upon entering the quaint little inn was heaven to her shivering form, causing a tiny smile to creep across her normally hardened visage while her eyes darted back and forth between the two stony walls. There were a good number of tables scattered across the room lit by oil lamps lining the faded grey walls. Only about half of them seemed to have been taken, most standing idle or deprived of the usual seates one was supposed to find encircling the tables. The barmaids and barkeeps scuttled back and forth between tables, pausing now and then to tease with the customers and giving the entire place an air of informalities.

The lass wasted no time and headed towards the bar, but decided against that and sat down at a table right next to the barkeeps' counter. She had figured that by keeping close to the owners, she would not have to wait too long before her orders would get through.

"Not a bad place for an overnight stay, Victor." She leaned back against her creaky chair, the musky stench of burnt tobacco filling her nostrils along with the alluring scent of well-aged ale lulled the lass. In fact, she was too busy soaking in the atmosphere to see a pair of burly lumberjacks advancing on their position. Not that it would matter, anyways, since these two bearded men had something else in mind besides starting a barfight.

[The Cinderella Man]

He expected bullheaded rejection of his proposal and maybe some insults referring to his cowardice and then some persistent reassuring on his account before she would yield, but instead she replied with indifference. At first sight, this surprised Victor. But then he looked past the untouchable, high-and-mighty outer shell and found nothing but a lass tired from the journey and struggling with the chill of the oncoming night. Nothing but a girl that he knew existed somewhere beyond the high ramparts. He said nothing though, and just went with the flow and followed her into the Stags, pondering on whether this was a glimpse of the dethawing or just an exception caused by circumstances. His head kept replaying the words that he exchanged with Sevelin just before he said goodbye to the gray-haired merchant.

“That girl is live fire, lad. Be careful how you handle her.” the old geezer said after Asuka headed towards the front door without a word of thanks for their benefactor. These words made the prizefighter smile now as he stood in the common room, almost as much as his own reply: “Indeed. If I’m not careful, I just might get frostbite.” he replied to Sevelin several minutes ago, before he scurried after the redhead.

Three-and-a-half Stags Inn was possibly the dumbest name for an inn that Victor every heard, but the interior of the establishment offered some clue as to why did the proprietor opt for such a name. On the far wall, looming over the secluded, shadowed tables, were three pair of polished antlers and a seventh that had no pair, pinned to the wall horizontally. And even though the name made some sense now, it was still a dumb name. Victor reckoned it was one of those things that people just made peace with, something that just was and nobody pried to deep into why it was. Why not take down that seventh antler and call it the Three Stags Inn? Because it was Three-and-a-half Stags Inn and that was just the way it was. The owner didn’t dwell on it, the clientele didn’t seem to dwell on it either and Victor probably wasn’t smart enough to dwell on it for too long anyways.

The rest of the inn was pretty much the archetype environment, not too spectacular but not to crummy either, a happy medium for all that liked to socialize or just drink themselves into oblivion. The tables were rustic with large square surfaces smoothed by years of usage, chairs were wobbly and uncomfortable with flat backrests and the customers was segregated as usual. Shady people in the corners, barflies ready to fall off the barstools and several of the local yahoos just squandering their modest earnings on overpriced alcohol. Not to mention, tobacco. If there was one thing that the boxer wanted to eliminate from all the inns and taverns, it was the goddamn bittersweet smoke of the tobacco leaves that hovered below the ceiling like a vague halo. Luckily, it seemed to be a slow night so the Stags’ interior seemed palatable to the prizefighter.

While Asuka grabbed a seat at one of the tables, Victor decided to take care of the lodgings with the innkeeper. Surprisingly, the man behind the bar was a rather young fellow, around Vic’s age, who moved with a gimp and seemed as thin as a toothpick with his tousled, long hair tied into a loose, dark brown braid.

“What can I get you, stranger?” the man asked, tossing a rather clean rag on his shoulder and waddling closer to where the boxer stood.

“We need some lodgings for the night. And a warm meal would be nice.” Victor said, then casting a look back towards the redhead. He wanted to order some wine as well, but somehow he was certain that wine wasn’t her poison of choice. “A pair of ales as well.”

“So that one room and two evening’s specials for you and your woman.”

Victor chuckled at the one room that the man mentioned, certain that Asuka started to bore a hole in his back with her frowning emeralds. “Two rooms. And she’s not my woman.” he replied curtly, making it certain that the message got across. The barkeep nodded with a vague wink before he procured a pair of keys from below the counter.

“Gotcha. Here are the keys. The meal and drinks will be brought to you shortly. That’s twenty gold pieces.”

Victor picked up his already light money pouch, counted the correct number of his hard-earned shinnes and placed them on the counter before collecting the keys. Playing a good guy with Asuka and making sure she didn’t get in some serious trouble was noble work and all, but it did no favors to his coffers that were slowly being depleted. Ever since he met the brassy lass the boxer was away from competitive bouts which meant he was away from the winner’s/loser’s purses as well. If this pursuit after... well, whatever the redhead chased, if it would continue for a while, he was bound to be turned into a real bum. And yet, even as he took a seat across the table from her and heard her speak, he didn’t mind much. It really blew how easy he was when it came to women.

“Yeah. Better then that stuffy place back in Serenti. Plus, nobody is trying to kill us here...” he said, the offered a teasing smirk before he added: “...yet.”

Victor was about to hand over one of the keys he procured from the unhealthily thin innkeeper when a pair of muscle mountains approached their desk with stupid-looking smiles on their faces. Clad in sleeveless linen shirts sweaty from the day’s work, the pair of lumberjacks didn’t seem overly hostile with their red noses and simplistic visages, but the boxer’s hands balled at his sides instinctively, expecting an attack.

“Aw, it’s nice to see new people. Isn’t it nice to see new people, Christian?” the right grotesque asked, starting at the pair from above before butting his fellow in the shoulder.

“Sure is, Garth. I love all them fancy people that come to our humble town.” the left woodcutter replied, scratching his pecks over the shirt that barely managed to contain his chest hair that looked as thick as fur.

“We don’t want any problems, fellows. But if you come asking for it, we’ll gladly provide it.” Victor replied, his tone terse and his brow furrowed as he eyed the pair, waiting for the slightest trace of enmity. There was none to be found though as the two rotund faces above uttered a throaty chuckle.

“Hey, hey, take it easy, laddie. We’re not out for trouble. We just wanted to bid you outlanders welcome and ask you to join us in a little game. Nobody else wanted to play.” Gerth said, his smile revealing large gaps where several of his teeth ought to be as he lifted his hands in a pacifying gesture.

“I thank you for the welcome, but we’re not in a mood for games.” the prizefighter cut them off as politely as possible, still searching for some trace of a hoax on the faces of the lumberjacks.

“Come on. Be a sport. ‘Tis a drinking contest. The loser pays for all them drinks.” Christian said, then turned to Asuka. “We’ll even give you and your little lady some leeway to make it fair.”

[AsukaStrikes]

((Bunny previously approved by The Cinderella Man, as stated in the previous post))

I bloody heard that, smart ass!

The thought immediately surfaced when the braided barkeep mentioned Asuka as being Victor's woman. The lass folded her arms in protest and opened her mouth, ready to let loose a long string of insults unsuitable for anyone below the drinking age. No one calls her a woman to someone else, not ever, not never. And certainly not to this weakling of a prizefighter, the status Asuka kept marked across his forehead. It mattered little that had it not been for Victor taking all those punches back in Serenti in her place, the lass would have less than a pretty face to show to the world. She hated most men in general, especially cowards and pricks.

But the boxer cut off her chance to respond in full force, so she was left to grumble bitterly under her breath in her own tongue at the weather-worn furniture. Stupid sonuva- Who daya think-

"Seriously, is this all you men could think of?" She took a jab at Victor before kicking back onto the back legs of her creaky chair. Obviously, the sturdy piece of pine had seen far worse conditions and probably would not mind a lithe little lady playing around a bit. Of course, just until trouble presented itself. Then, it was a whole 'nother ballgame.

Asuka remained silent when the two lumbering fools came over, her fist wrapped around the sturdy leather-bound grip attached to her razor blade. Come hell or high water, she was not going to let these guys play her for a fool and jump out with sharp, pointy things aimed to let her soul fly out. She kept her back to them, but tilted her head around just enough to observe the twosome from the corner of her eye.

At the mention of "drinking contest" and "loser pays all," the itchy feeling at the tips of her fingers subsided. The lass almost could not contain her anxiety at the prospect of "free drinks" for herself, all courtesy of the losing party. She was more than confident about downing more or less seven good-size mugs of ale in a single sitting without getting too tipsy to stand up - maybe two more if she decided to really push herself. Asuka relaxed the grip on Kazeryu and turned around just slightly, the chair screeching annoyingly against the dusty floorboards, and looked at the nearest man called Christian.

"Is that a challenge?" The redhead made a wry smirk, coyly rubbing her arms as if the nighttime chill was starting to get to her. "I am feeling a bit chilly right now. A couple dozen steins should keep me nice and warm..." A big fat lie and she knew it. Victor probably knew it as well, she noticed; The muscle man giving her a dejected sigh. "...What about you, Padre?" The lass thought it would be a fun thing to pass the time. They were not about to storm the fort tonight, anyway. Having a few drinks on the local bums should prove to be an interesting endeavor enough.

"Well, as fun as it sounds..." The boxer began with just that little hint of guilt she could feel in his voice, "...I think I'll pass for this round. We have a small business that needed to be taken care of in the morning, remember?"

There you go again, Victor. Go and ruin the one chance for me to relax. We'll see about that...

"Wha~? What was that, Padre?" Asuka craned her neck a bit towards him, peering into his chocolatey brown eyes through half-closed eyes. This man, in the young rebellion's mind, was no fun at all. It was up to her to fix that little kink in his mindset. "Oh, so that's a yes? Well, then! Let's not keep the party waiting!"

Wasting no time for Victor to interject, Asuka turned her attention to the two perplexed, albiet amused pair of woodcutters. "You 'eard the man, bring us the ale!And don't give me that leeway nonsense, I can outdrink the two of you combined!" Her voice rang out in high spirit, loud enough that a few group of patrons started turning heads and glancing in her direction with curiosity sparkling in their eyes. It was not commonplace in this establishment for a good round of the "Drinking Contest" to take place every now and then, but the prospect of seeing outsiders duel it out with the local drunkards - one of them a young lass at that - was something not to be missed.

"Are you sure you can hold down your drinks, wildcat?" Victor threw her a side-long glance as the buxom barmaids waddled over with a wooden plate laden with alcoholic goodness, filling the table with large beer mugs filled to the brim with frothy amber liquids. The two grinning lumberjacks, snickering at the thought of an easy night, glancing at the amber lubricants and then at the fiery lass opposite of them. They could hear the jingling coins pouring from the visitors' pockets while the two of them dance on into the night, hugging each other and stumbling through the night street singing with no care for the world.

Asuka, however, was too preoccupied by the alluring light-brown beauty in front of her, the usual cloudy emerald shining vividly in spite of the barely adequate lighting shining all around. "Of course, I'm sure." She replied with little concern, taking a playful shot at the prize-fighter. "I thank the Serenti for teaching me well the art of drinking."

A crowd began to gather around the tiny square table, most of them the local peasants already tending to their own little revelries before the duo came in. Some had seen the commotion inside the Stag and popped in for a look. The men cheering on for their home-grown drunks while a couple of women nearby rooted on for the newcomers.

"Alright, boys and girls!" A cute-face barmaid stepped into the ring of people, her curly auburn locks cascading out from under the bright red scarf on her head. Her voice chirping like a cherub in Asuka's ears as she waited for the signal. "The side to stop chugging first pays for all the drinks! On your mark..."

The entire downstair tavern fell silent as if waiting for the pin to be dropped. Asuka glared at her drink as if afraid it would up and fly away, denying her the tasty buttery flavor against her tongue.

"Chug!"

That was all the contestant needed and the battle was off.

Christian and Garth made quick work of their side, downing seven between them by the time Asuka's partner managed to finish his second one. The redhead lass, however, would not fall for such easy tricks. She took her time with each buttery gush that filled her throat, savoring the warmth riding through her veins. Lessons had been learned back in the Piston's Pleasure Paradise, the official high-class bar of the Serenti combatants. The Lavinian Ale having taught her that drinks like this tasted best with time. Still, the lass could not help it but speed through her drinks from time to time, trying not to look bad for accepting the challenge in the first place. Who was she, after all, to let men win at everything?

Twenty minutes passed and the crowds cheered on their champions, who were starting to slow down from gas and the rocking floor. The score so far was 15 on their end, each left with half a mug still to go.

Asuka was not faring too well, either, but at the least she had accumulated seven empty mugs by her side. Her face, turned a cute shade of pink from sheer intoxication, held a cheery grin at the slowly defeated duo on the other side.

"Ha ha ha. Whawazat zbout der leewwai~?" She giggled, waving her eight mug around in front before taking four humongous gulps of the frothy drink. "I'z toht yew were betta dan dis..."

Still revelling in her drunken stupor, the lass peered at her drinking partner to check how he was doing with his endeavor. Not like she cared much, anyway. Asuka bet he could hold as much drink as she could any given day. Whether it was confidence or just a stupid thought, the girl simply batted it away and took another drag on her drink before setting it down on the smelly oak surface. The table reeked of ale and damp from the occasional spills from both sides - surprisingly more from the two lumberjacks who began mumbling something incoherent to each other with a smirk.

"Eight this, boyz~! Ha ha ha~!" Asuka whooped, picking up another glass and took in a lung full of its sweet aromatic smell.

Ah~ Beer, beer, my troubles for some beer...

[The Cinderella Man]

Victor hated alcohol. Regardless of the beverage, color, texture, package, it all tasted horrible to him, like something that the body should be ejecting instead of ingesting. The ale was always acerbic, the wine was always drifting between the sweet and sour and being neither and all of the hard booze tasted like something used for degreasing heavy machinery. It was a mystery to him how somebody could actually relish the taste of something so unsavory, how people wasted hard-earned cash on something that dimmed their wits and tasted like piss. Furthermore, what really ticked him off was the dumbass etiquette that people associated with alcohol. If you didn’t drink it, you were instantly a lesser man, a pansy that didn’t have the rocks to be all that a man was supposed to be; a drunkard. So far he defended himself against this common belief by evading rowdy company – or company in general – but today he had to put up the white flag.

Because Asuka was up for this contest, the redhead metamorphosing from her frosty demeanor to the one in sync with her hair color at the first sign of a challenge that threatened her female superiority. And regardless of how much of a bitch she was towards him since the moment they met, there was little that the prizefighter wouldn’t do for the bossy redhead. She maybe was a bitch, he thought as he downed another pint of something that offended his taste buds even as it came in contact with them, but she was currently the only company he had. And getting both burn marks and frostbite was better then getting lost in oblivion of loneliness.

So he drank. It was going a bit slow at first, his stomach, his throat and his mouth allying in a stand against the booze, but after the first three or four steins their resistance was gone. His throat was numb, his mouth growing an immunity to the horrible taste and his stomach yielding and accepting the ale. The crowd around their table laughed and murmured and cheered for every downed mug, their faces multiplying proportionally with the alcohol consumed. Beside him, the pair of lumberjacks was relentless, but their assaults on the mugs were expectantly waning with each one they ingested. Victor thought that Asuka and he wouldn’t stand a chance against the pair, but Christian and Garth seemed like they had a few even before they proposed the challenge so it seemed a rather even contest.

Between forcing the liquid down his throat and struggling to focus his eyes enough to filter out the gathering haze, Victor could see a sight that, despite the inebriation, warmed his heart a little bit. Asuka was going it at like a wildcat alright, her flushed face for the first time offering a mirthful face with a genuine smile. It seemed to him that all that anger and frustration that she bottled up finally found a vent led by all the alcohol she swallowed. That was why he did his best not to disappoint her. Well, that and he wasn’t fond of paying for all those empty mugs that by now littered the table that seemed like a battlefield where ale was the blood and the mugs were the victims of some very thirsty deities.

The redhead mumbled a bunch of words that barely reached the boxer, one of them being eight for certain. He didn’t know how many the woodcutters had; he was way past the ability to keep count of more then his own mugs. His tally was currently seven emptied and his stomach seriously rumbling at the introduction of the eight. But he swallowed hard, stifled a burp that nearly recalled some of the ale back up, and immediately grabbed another one. By now his reasoning was shot away almost completely, his smile constantly on, his heart carried by the support of the blurry faces that spun all around them like a carrousel.

“NINE!!!” he bawled, lifting his pint to Asuka before taking his time to lead it diligently to his mouth. He went too low on the first try, hit his chin, then lifted it a bit higher and past his lips. He gulped hard again and this time he was certain that his stomach was as packed as a friar’s wine barrel. Across from him, the red-haired lass didn’t seem like she could take another before passing out. The lumberjacks, however, seemed reluctant to stop that easily. Christian was done with his mug, slamming it against the table repeatedly, making the score sixteen on their end as well. If Garth finished his, it would be a tie. But Garth was leaning dangerously backwards on his chair, trying to ease the passing of the liquid down his throat. Victor, who usually disliked foul play, was hammered so it was a small wonder when his foot “accidentally” found its way to the foot of Garth’s chair and helped it up just enough to make the muscled man crash on his back. The crowd jeered and clapped at this, the large woodcutter trying to get up but abandoning the thought after just one try. Christian found this fall of his companion excessively funny – the way everything was when you got shitfaced – his hand hitting the wobbly table over and over again. And then, after another rippling laugh, his face followed his fist and landed against the hard table surface.

“Well, I’ll be damned. Finally we have winners that aren’t Garth and Chris.” the auburn-haired waitress that supplied them with the booze throughout the entire ordeal said, approaching the table with a rather heartily smile on her face. She was of a simple folk, a hard-working girl that enjoyed good fun as the next man in Underwood; she didn’t mind the fact that she would have to clean up after all of this. Especially since drunken losers always left large tips, whether they wanted it or not. The maiden approached the table, taking Victor’s and Asuka’s hand and lifting them both up. Both the prizefighter and his brassy comrade were quite wonky on their feet, but when the people clapped and cheered, they both smiled. “Asuka and Victor! Nineteen to eighteen!”

When she finally released their hands, Victor felt like he just went fifteen rounds against the best fighter in the land. His knees were slowly turning into jelly, his balance was keen on defying physics and the interior of the Stags suddenly seemed like a really queer fair ride. He needed to get to bed. Fast. But he wasn’t the only one, it seemed, because as soon as he shifted his eyes to the other half of the winning team, Asuka lost her footing and came stumbling straight at him. Usually, it would be a walk in the park to catch the lithe female. With nine shots of ale attacking his system, it was quite an endeavor. Still, he managed to both wrap his arms around her and keep them both from falling down.

“Whoa, hey, take it easy now.” he struggled to hold her and pronounce his words correctly. He came off sounding like a foreigner that was just starting to learn the language. “I think we should get to our rooms. Yep. That would be the best thing right now.” Victor said, looking down at her eyes that thanks to the short distance weren’t doubled or tripled and were actually quite beautiful. To the crowd he raised one hand and smiled goofily: “Thank you! You’ve been a great audience. I would bow, but I can’t.”

Another round of laughter ensued before they cleared the way for the pair that walked side by side, uncertain who was supporting who during their walk to their rooms that seemed thousands of miles away. “You know, you’re actually pretty damn good in this drinking stuff.” Victor spoke, her bare arm around his shoulders and her blushed face inches from his own. She smelled like alcohol and sweat and the back of a merchant’s wagon, but to him it was somehow the sweetest fragrance he could imagine. When they reached the door that seemed to have the number that corresponded to one of the keys the boxer stopped and leant her on the door before unlocking it after only four tries. He didn’t open them though. Instead he stopped to look at her face again, at the warmth it finally radiated after days and days of frigidity. Victor’s hand moved almost on its own, not caring if Asuka bit it off. It removed one of the locks from in front of the girl’s, tucking it behind her ear.

“You should drink more.” he spoke, looking into her emeralds as if they were the only thing that mattered at the time. “When you drink, you smile, and when you smile, you look beautiful.”

The boxer probably would dare to tell her that and the redhead would probably have none of this sentimental crap if they were both sober, but they weren’t. In fact, they were so drunk that when he cupped her cheek and pressed his lips against her own, she didn’t push him back, she didn’t knee him in the nuts, she didn’t even recoil. The righteous voice that existed in the back of his head would usually warn him that what he was doing wasn’t right, that he was taking advantage of her, but that faint whisper got washed away by the alcohol and his pent up desire for the untouchable redhead.

[AsukaStrikes]

Drink! Drink! Drink!

Those were what the redhead fighter heard as she downed one mug after another, albiet slowing down considerably.

Drink! Drink! Drink!

Those cheers kept coming even as her eyes began to glaze over from intoxication, her competitive will the only thing holding her consciousness intact by the time she gulped down the last drop of her own mug. Even then, she could barely see anything clearly and was having trouble getting her mug up to meet her lips. It took the lass a long while before the elusive container bounced on her nose once and poured its amber liquids into her mouth, though a bit sloppy and uncontrolled.

A few moments later, she felt her hand go up into the air on its own, held by some physical force she could not exactly place. Wha~? What happened? She looked around with a bleary eye, half-asleep and half-sick at the same time. Did I win? Did Victor win? Did we win?

Something must have gone right, though, as her groggy head registered the applauding cheers of the crowd chanting their names. The lass was so hammered the only thing she could do was creaking a goofy smile and hug limp on someone bigger and stronger who took her around his arms. She felt someone was there, but her mind didn't quite register. It could be Victor, or it could be some other tavern-goers who were gathered around the soggy table littered with beer steins and beer stains.

But it felt so good to feel helpless again.

Asuka smiled like an idiot as she was led up a flight of stairs that seemed to be going on its twisted path forever, the wood looked like giant tree trunks with gnarled branches and crawling with cute little animals. The walls wobbled and craned over her, threatening to fall over the two dreary warriors of booze and engulf them in its pulpy planks.

Then, she felt her back hit the wall - or was it the door to her room - proceeded by an echoing sound of metal against metal. It sounded like brass rubbing against each other, but the mind of a drunken blacksmith's daughter could not have told the difference. Had she still been conscious, she could tell for certain.

Apart from what she heard, she also saw a face staring back at her. It was a familiar face, a face she had seen all too often eve since their fateful encounter in that hellhole called Serenti. It was a face she used to mock and ridicule, a face she often glared at and scold at for inaction and cowardice. But the face she saw then was full of nicks and imperfection. Not like the face she saw now.

His hand moved forward and she shivered just so slightly it would be hard for anyone to notice, especially when they were drunk. The lass, who was normally seconds away from spouting fire and brimstone at any two-bit thugs thinking she was as easy as eating pie, felt like a completely helpless little girl before a giant. It made her feel so insecure, so young. So intoxicating.

The man spoke something to her and she merely smiled, her cold demeanor had melted away completely since the seventh stein of ale passed down her throat and into her system. His voice radiated good-will and warmth she had nearly long forgotten, ever since the departure of her father into the Great Unknown, spirited away by the Pale Maiden of Akashima Lore. It was a feeling she had long wanted to feel from anyone, anyone at all she had come across. Now that her self-superior motto had been thrown out the window, this feeling of insecurity and submission actually felt welcoming.

Then, the man did something she had never experienced in her life. He kissed her.

Alcohol does a lot of weird things to the body, but the sensual touch of another person's lips was surely not just her messed-up imagination. It felt so good, too good to let it go to melt away in the back of her mind. Therefore, she returned his kiss, though all too lightly and shyly.

As their lips finally parted, she remembered herself letting out a quiet little giggle while her free hand worked the door knob, sending the drunken duo stumbling into the room. Asuka was not at all in that bad of a condition, but the stupor was just enough to make her lose her footing momentarily, nearly flying across the room to land on the cover sheets on the only bed in the room. She did not know whose room they had stumbled in and she could care less. She needed some ht eye and no man was going to stop her from getting into bed.

The first thing to come off her lithe, sweaty body were her frayed jacket and her belt, Kazeryu dangling in his sheath as the lass tossed it on the nearby table. Next came her leather tank top, to which she instead flung it across the room where it landed with a dull thud at the far wall.

"Phew~! I feel so hot right now..." She muttered to no one in particular, slipping clumsily out of her travel-worn pants and let it fly over the table, not caring where it would end up the next morning. Scantily clad in only a loose piece of cloth covering her unflattering bosom, a white pair of undergarment covering her nether and a band of bandages wrapped over her stomach wound, the booze-worn maiden swayed in front of the bed and grinned like an idiot. "Good night~ big boy..."

Those were the last thoughts to enter her mind when the lights literally went out for her, even before her scruffy hair met the soft, feathery pillow on the bed. She would sleep well tonight, knowing that she had beaten men at their own game...

Beer, beer, my troubles for some... Zzz...

[The Cinderella Man]

Victor was never much of a philanderer, but in his twenty-six years he had close encounters with a decent share of women. Some might’ve been physically more impressive then Asuka, more seductive, more luscious, more able to spin a man’s head around as if it wasn’t attached to the rest of his body. But none of them, not a single one of them, tasted as sweet and divine and perfect as the redhead swordmaiden. Not even his angelic coveted Delilah. Or so his mind – or rather, what’s left of his mind in front of the tide of alcohol – insisted at least. Asuka’s lips were so soft and coy, warm against his own, reluctant but compliant to make the kiss mutual. Victor couldn’t help but smile, thinking himself victorious, thinking he finally managed to chip enough ice from her façade to reach the meek lass that lay dormant.

And then they fell through the door.

He wasn’t certain who turned the knob, but before he even remotely sated himself with the lips that were untouchable for so long, Asuka was falling backwards and the boxer was struggling to keep his footing. He managed to – with what seemed like superhuman effort – to evade falling on top of her, stumbling on the hardwood floor, face first. Only at the very last moment his arms reacted, shielding his already ugly mug from becoming even uglier. Victor didn’t mind. The ale ingested made him laugh as if somebody told a really good joke and Vic was amongst the first ones to understand it. He rolled on his back after a few guffaws, looking at the carousel made out of the walls, the ceiling, the petroleum lamp, the crack in the mortar, looking at it as if through a perpetually turning kaleidoscope.

There was a sudden intruder in this picture though, a brownish object that seemed to soar through the air, forcing him to focus just enough to stop the spinning. The unidentified object struck the wall and then fall right onto the prizefighter’s face. Despite it being right on his face, Victor was still unable to recognize it. But the scent that crept up his nostrils... He knew it despite being so drunk that he felt like he was on a fair ride. It was her scent, the aroma he noticed when they carried each other up the stairs. And why wouldn’t it be hers? Once his hands found its way to his face and he picked up the object, he saw that it was her tank top as well. This realization widened his smile so much that if his lips stretched wider, they would go around his head.

To top it all off, Asuka was saying something about being hot, and it was more then enough to peel his eyes away from her clothing and towards the thing that was formerly clothed in it. The tipsy redhead was discarding her apparel with a commendable speed given her current state. Currently, all she had on was a pair of pants, some cloth that covered her unflattering chest – though Victor found them quite exquisite and perfect – and some bandages around her stomach. That was a shame, the boxer though. Stomach was one of his favorite pieces of a woman body. Regardless, his eyes barely left the young maiden, following her clumsy ritual of undressing and holding his breath once she started taking off her pants.

Then it all slowly fell together in his head. Victor maybe wasn’t the smartest guy around, but he could piece a puzzle when it was simple enough. And it didn’t seem too complicated right now. The kiss, the relatively subtle invitation to her room, the discarded clothing, the barely clothed body of a girl that kept him on such a distance that sometimes he though they weren’t even traveling together... The moronic wide smile turned into a more shrewd one. And why wouldn’t it? They were both grown ups, they traveled together, they had needs. It was only the natural course of events.

Suddenly, Victor felt like he was running late for the party. Asuka was in nothing but her undergarments and he was still fully clothed and half-sitting on the floor. “Hurry, man! Hurry. She’ll start without you!” a voice clamored in his head, and the prizefighter, inebriated as he was, heeded the warning. He tossed her tank top away and proceeded to undress as hurriedly as his fumbling fingers could follow the orders. He slithered out of his leather coat, leaving it on the floor as he proceeded to struggle with the boots that had at least two pairs of laces too many. One of them came of easy, the other fighting him until he yanked on it hard enough to send it flying through the ajar door. His shirt didn’t put up much of a fight, but several buttons paid the price as he took it off. Finally, squirming out of his pants and tossing them on the table, Victor Callahan crawled on all fours and climbed onto the bed, wearing nothing but his pale gray shorts.

“Hey, whats tha rush? We have...” he wanted to say all night but from the tranquility of Asuka’s scantly clad body and the way her eyes refused to open, the eager pugilist realized that the night already begun for her. A part of him – the manly, aroused part – wanted to wake her up and continue what started back at the door. Another part was disappointed that there would be no action amidst the sheets tonight. Another part was too drunk to care and found sleep tempting. But the majority of him was still decent and enough of a gentleman to be sated with the kiss and the marvelous sight that the redhead offered him even now. His eyes passed over her slowly, their owner giving his best to keep them focused in order to carefully inspect every curve of her lanky body, every spot on the texture of her skin, every little imperfection that made her perfect, every sinful detail...

Somewhere around the sinful details – that came into the picture when his eyes passed over the simple undergarments that covered her crotch area – the alcohol finally claimed the victory by conquering his consciousness. Victor conked out, his left hand embracing Asuka shamelessly, his fingers touching her skin, his nostrils inhaling her sweet sweat, his ears listening to her breathing, and his mind registering none of it.

[AsukaStrikes]

Sweet, blissful sleep.

If Asuka could give up everything in the world for something, her number one choice would be to see her own father alive again, hammering away at the forge back home. The other choice, though not as idealistic or noble in its own right, was to sleep the best sleep and never having to wake up again.

But as it was true with every other human-looking folks in the odd world of Althanas, she had to wake up sometime. Whether it be of her own free will or from an outside disturbance was not an issue that mattered. Either way, the dreadfully hung-over redhead would be feeling like she fell down a flight of stairs anyway.

And as with any following morning succeeded by her alcoholic triumph over the "undefeatable men," her head was ready to give the lass one hell of a time as her bodily functions regained their edge and keen response.

The first thing that penetrated the girl's mind, as she laid there clad in only her undergarments, was a beam of light in her eye.

Ugh... It's mornin' already...? Asuka groaned spitefully, wishing she had been conscious enough to close the blinds the night before and possibly extend the imaginary paradise of slumber by a few more hours. She could just lazily prop herself up, grab the heavy cotton hem, pull the two fabric blinds together and go back to sleep. Then again, were she to do that she would end up fully awake altogether. And waking up after a wild night of booze guzzling was sure to leave her wanting some strong stuff to alleviate the pain.

Ugh... I hate morning sunlight...

The lass was no nightwalker, but even to her the intruding beam of sunlight was enough to throw her into a grumpy mood. Knowing that the unavoidable dull pain inside her head would be waiting for the late night's ale to lose its effect, feeling the burning beam of light in her dilated eyes was by far an even more unbearable torture.

That was when she tried to get up and grab one of the hanging curtain hem and found out she could not even move an inch. The object in question did not make itself known immediately. To her, it was a giant mass of pink, tan and brown.

"Uhh... What in the..." The lass uttered out loud to no one in particular, but proceeded to ignore said obstacle and crawled over the mass of flesh and bone, successfully pulling the blinds together and blocking out the cursed sunlight from her eyes. But with the rigorous deed of closing the window blinds, complete with chirping songbirds happily singing outside her room window, her eyes began to adjust to the more-than-ample lighting filtering through the yellowish cloth.

And she knew something did not belong in that room right off the bad.

"Uhh... Huh...?" Asuka sputtered as she sat up in her bed, picking a heavy, callous hand off her left shoulder and tossed it over her right. "What the... Is that you, Padre?"

...Padre? As in... Victor... "Padre"... Callahan...?

The lass blinked twice, rubbing her eyes lazily and staring down at the enormous form that nearly crowded her off the mattress already. The unmistakable broad shoulders and bushy, unkempt hair clicked soundly in her throbbing alcohol-drugged mind.

...What the hey is he doing in my room?

Her eyes scanned the room in the meantime her mind tried to decipher the weird connection. Her tank top and pants were thrown across the room as well as Victor's own clothes, seemingly tossed about with equal abandonment. Then there was the tell-tale sign of sweat and saliva, of course those could have come from the girl herself though she was less than sure what had actually happened the night before.

Her drugged, dreary mind slowly put two and two together. Discarded clothes... Sweat... Two people in the same bed... dressed in nothing but rags...

Snap.

"Victor Callahan!" Asuka shrieked at the top of her lungs, pushing her back against the headrest and landing a solid kick at the intruder's broad rib cages with full intention of at least sending him flying through the far wall of the room. "Get out of my bed, you son of a tramp!"

To have been seduced by a man was one thing to the fiery lass, spiteful of ever falling into the property of anyone she has declared unworthy of even becoming a permanent traveling partner. To be caught in bed with one, scantily clad and even touching the wildcat at all was deserving of her full wrath.

And with Victor, even though he had saved her backside from being at the wrong end of numerous unspeakable evils, she was even more resentful that she would end up attached to him than she already was.

"Who told you to come in here, you sonova- Ungh!" Asuka hurriedly pulled the bedsheet off its mattress and quickly wrapped it around her unimpressive bosom before nearly collapsing from a killer headache, deciding to just let the same thing happen to her nemesis whilst she tries to regain her senses again by sitting down on the naked bed.

Glaring at the prize fighter with her trademark dagger eyes, the lass proceeded to lean against the rough wooden wall and massaged her aching temple.

"You better had not done anything funny, Padre. Cuz if you did, I would have to rip that little guy out and throw it to the little birds outside, you bastard."

Asuka also resolved to just never drink too much again and retire herself while she could still walk more or less in a straight line. If she could remember that for the next encounter with a drink-out.

Oww... My head... Stupid hangover...

[The Cinderella Man]

It was the weirdest dream he ever had. Everything was pitch black and for some reason his mouth felt as if something crawled in between his jaws and died. The darkness was soft though, comfy and warm and a part of it seemed to be made out of human skin and muscles. And there was a whisper in the darkness, somebody talking to him in a distorted voice over such distance that the only viable explanation was that he was sinking in some abysmal ocean. Victor didn’t mind. For some reason beyond his half-slumbering mind, he was satisfied with both his current position and what happened prior to the dream. Of course, he couldn’t remember what exactly happened since his brain still refused to operate at full capacity, but if a man in a dream had a face, Victor’s face was definitely smiling.

And the Asuka decided to jumpstart his brain with a swift kick to the ribs. Unprepared and still sinking in his sweet abyss, the boxer was thrown off the bed from the power of the strike, his head hitting the nightstand on its way down to the hardwood floor. And suddenly the blackness was brownish and reminded a whole lot of wood, the cozy feeling gave way to the harsh coldness of the ground and the voice that was almost like a lullaby of a siren moments ago was cursing and screaming at him, calling him names.

“Wha-Where’s the fire?” he mumbled, still unaware of where he was, what happened and why was somebody calling him a son of a tramp. His mind introduced the information gradually, the only way his aching head could comprehend at the time being. “Arrived in Underwood yesterday. Got into an inn, weirdly named inn. Got into a drinking game. They won. Led Asuka up the stairs.” It was around this part that his dazed face managed a faint smile. Oh, he remembered now what happened. Victor seldom drank, but when he did, he didn’t forget what happened during his intoxication. He remembered the kiss - the mutual kiss – and the taste of alcohol on the screaming redhead’s lips. He remembered falling into her room and her unspoken invitation to her bedside. And most importantly, he remembered that nothing happened. They both passed out before they even got past that first kiss.

Asuka clearly didn’t know that, the swordsmaiden all fire and brimstone as she threatened his manhood and called him some more names. Victor wasn’t too worried about his manhood; the redhead maybe was a wildcat, but he was relatively certain that when it came to her threats directed at him, she was all talk and no actual manhood ripping. He could’ve just told her the truth, just explain that nothing happened but a kiss between a pair of inebriated people, but for now he opted against sincerity. Asuka maybe was rather pretty in her own way, but she could be a real bitch on occasions, hitting below the belt in ways that were worse then physical. This was his opportunity to get back at her at least a little bit. It was a childish thing to do perhaps, but making her doubt the fact that she bedded none other then the loser she perpetually degraded was too tempting to pass on.

“You know, it takes two people to do something funny.” he said, finally gathering enough determination to fight off the headache that made the pain in his ribs seem insignificant and push himself up to his feet. It felt a bit like moving through invisible molasses that pulsated in the same rhythm as the throbbing in his head, but he managed to reach one of the walls and prop his back against it. His eyes took some time adjusting to the light, and when finally managed to do so, they moved to Asuka. Wearing nothing but a bed sheet, with her copper hair unruly and her frown back on, she managed to make him regret that nothing funny happened. He wouldn’t mind seeing that image every morning. Without the kick in the ribs and the name calling if possible.

“I don’t remember what happened.” the hungover boxer lied, summoning enough strength to start gathering his stuff. He found a boot, his coat, a shirt missing several buttons and a tank top that most certainly wasn’t his. What was his, however, were the pants and they were strategically located on the table over on her side of the bed. He approached her slowly, carefully, expecting another kick like a dog that just wet the carpet and ultimately picking up his pants. “I can imagine though.” Victor added with a slightest hint of a smile that sent Asuka raging. She snatched the cloth from his hand, smacked his already aching head and started shouting at him to get out of her room. He really had no choice but to obey lest she reached for her sword and started to do some dismembering. Scuttling through the door in nothing but his shorts, with his hands holding a bundle of clothes, he was out just in time to evade the slamming of the doors.

“Spunky.” Victor muttered to no one in particular, standing in the cold hallway and failing to stifle a chuckle. “Ah, there you are.” he added, locating his other boot and picking it up with a grunt. He was in a process of locating both his room and the key that was in one of the pockets amidst his clothing when the bar wench from last night came up the stairs and into the hallway. A smile on her face was smarmy and sincere.

“A rough night?” the woman asked, her eyes inspecting the almost naked prizefighter.

“I wish. A rough morning though.” the boxer replied, finally finding the key and unlocking the door. Before he moved into the room, he spared a glance and a smile on the inquisitive girl. “You know how they say that the morning is smarter then the evening? Horse dung. I laid with a kiss and woke up with a kick in the ribs. How smart is that?”

The maid chuckled and he slipped through the door with a smirk before she got a chance to argue his point. Once inside his room – that was unsurprisingly furnished almost exactly like the one he woke up in – Victor dropped his clothes on the bed and approached the basin. He poured some water from the pitcher inside the relatively clean vessel, then proceeded to wash himself as much as the water amount allowed. He then donned his clothes, glad that he managed to get all of them before Asuka started to some serious damage to his health. He also took out his combat knife and his charcoaled bat – both in his gymbag that the maid probably delivered to his room yesterday – knowing that his companion wasn’t fond of lingering too long in one place. With no comb to his name, he used his fingers to correct his hairdo and once relatively satisfied with his outlook, he made his way out of the room and down the stairs. And regardless of what he did and what he focused on, the image of Asuka from last night, when she lay serene and half-naked in bed, always returned to him, making him bear the aftereffects of the alcohol a bit easier then usual.

Eventually, Victor found himself back in the common room, sitting behind one of the secluded tables, sucking on some bitter herb tea. The barmaid promised it would help him with the hangover, but all that it was good for was ridding him of bad breath and making him almost belch in the process. He hoped that it was one of those remedies that took a while to start working. His eyes drifted to the stair every once in a while, his mind trying to predict Asuka’s reaction now that she cooled down and wasn’t spewing curses like dragon spewed flames.

[AsukaStrikes]

Oww... Stupid head...

Asuka reamained motionless on the bed, the sheet of off-white cotton wrapped hastily around her torso. She knew something weird happened last night, though by now it all seemed like a vague little dream in the back of her mind.

Well, let's see... I remembered we were here looking for... what was that place? Armoury Something? Or was it the Something Armoury? The name slipped her mind completely, as much as she hated to admit, but at least the deal about it still remained fresh in her mind.

She was looking for that runaway noble Yamihara.

OK, enough of that... There was a party... no, a contest or something last night... Mead Ale... or something... With Victor... Won... And a... Kiss?

The kiss. Its sensation still lingering on her lips despite most of last night's endeavors were lost to the effects of alcohol. The lass stared blankly at the door, reaching a hand up and lightly touched the odd little feeling on her mouth.

No way! We kissed... Kissed each other?!

The swordmaiden suddenly felt like she was back home, sitting only a few feet away from her father's blazing forge. Except for the fact that the thing that felt like burning was not her entire body, but only her face.

Swatting her hands around in frustration, she resolved to merely try and forget anything that happened last night and get her clothes on. But even as she slipped into her pants and her tank top, evidently thrown casually against the wall, images of the two of them making out kept prying into her mind and reminded her that she was not so tough, not so "untouchable" as she wanted to be.

The thought kept their invasion even after she was fully dressed, Kazeryu sheathed behind her waist and peeking out from her long jacket, and on her way down the stairs. She had been hasty with the morning ritual, preferring to just throw water in her face and redo her loose ponytail to make sure it did not become undone during travel, and the sweet "unwashed" scent permeated faintly from her skin when she approached the common room from the stairs.

She spotted Victor from clear across the room even before her foot touched the last step of the stairs - a flash bit of discomfort arising instantly upon the realization. She could not find a reason to quickly seek him out, normally just walking towards the bar and try to find him from there. Self consciousness immediately took over and she strode uneasily towards his table, wrapping her unbuttoned jacket together with her left hand and glanced nervously at the other tavern goers already filing in for a quick meal. She was not sure how many were there last night but she was nervous that they might have thought Victor and herself were...

Oh, snap out of it! You're untamable, Asuka! You can't be tamed and you know tha- The lass turned her eyes towards her destination and literally froze in her track when she realized she was already standing in front of Victor's table, the man nonchalantly sipping a glass of something green and smelly that definitely did not look alcoholic.

His eyes drifted upwards, the man's chocolate orbs meeting the nervous swordmaiden's own emerald ones and she snapped her eyes away in an instant, blushing like a young lass in her early teen before sitting down heavily in her chair. She kept her eyes looking away from the man despite the urge to return his gaze, partly afraid that her eyes would betray her mind or that he might see the conflicting girl underneath her angry, resentful brows.

"Don't ever speak about last night, Padre." She bitterly remarked in an attempt to keep him from saying anything, never wanting to know if something did happen that night. It was not like she would be having his baby, anyway, since there was nothing more to support the child inside after an encounter with the dark warrior Letho. Even so, her face was still flushed and trickling sweat raced each other down the side of her face. "We have a job to do today, right? Let's get to the point then."

A barmaid waddled over to their table, a slightly chubby girl in her mid-teen years sporting a crown of deep brown streaked with gold, and set down a small cup of tea under her nose. Asuka glanced down at the drink, curiously sniffing the herbal scent that stung her nose like a volley of knives.

She was not really fond of bitter greens, preferring the smooth taste of beer and mead even though the herbs were supposed to help improve her health. The lass was not sure if she could stomach it, but the "Gut Wrencher" back in Serenti proved to be at least a bit helpful, if somewhat limited.

"...What the hell is this? Am I supposed to drink this?" She muttered, the waitress already out of earshot, and took a few more sniff of the tea. It smells funny, that was one thing she could tell, and putting things that smell funny into her mouth was not something she was looking forward to doing.

[The Cinderella Man]

It would’ve been comical the way Asuka acted that morning, all chagrined and jittery, evading his gaze as if it was made out of daggers. It would’ve been comical how much she looked like the young lass she really was, haplessly hiding her nervousness behind a strict mask as if he just stole a kiss in front of her father or something. It would’ve been comical if it wasn’t so sweet that it lured another smile on Victor’s lips. The redhead maybe erected high walls all around herself, but that inaccessibility made every single glimpse of the person beyond those fortifications that much more precious. He knew one way to break down those walls now – the booze – but he intended to find at least one other, preferably a less drastic one. And it was beginning to be clear that in some weird, incomprehensible, abnormal, almost masochistic way, Victor was falling for Asuka.

Fortunately for him (and his health), the boxer was in the process of taking another sip of the badly tasting tea, so his almost unctuous smile was hidden from view by the clay cup. It wound up being a rather long sip though, since Asuka’s remarks and the forcefully rigorous tone kept the smile on longer then Victor intended it to last. It took several seconds for his lips to normalize.

“You should if you want to rid yourself of the aftereffects of all that ale you drank last night,” Victor said, lowering his cup to the table and allowing his insides a short repose before introducing the other half of the concoction. They drank their morning tea in silence, Asuka seemingly uninterested in anything save her beverage, looking everything except across the table. The prizefighter tried to do the same, focusing on the morning jabber of the patrons, but his eyes always returned to the swordsmaiden and all of the sensations from last night. She made it quite clear that she didn’t want to talk about it, but it was easier said then done at this point. Victor was a vagabond, with no home, no family, no significant other, not even an insignificant other, and currently the redhead was all he had. He wanted to talk about it. He wanted to reveal what was the reason for her anger, why she pushed everything away with such frigidity, and why last night seemed so repugnant to her. But while he was a pugilist and thus not the smartest person around, Victor had enough tact to know that this was probably not a good time for such touchy conversations.

“You still haven’t told me what we are searching for,” the boxer said, breaking eye contact and focusing on the tea that he decided to down in one go. He reckoned it would be less of a torment to take it all at once, but once the liquid slipped down his esophagus, he wasn’t so certain anymore, his face churning as if he just bit into an unripe lemon. “Oh god, this is awful,” was the only thing he muttered, battling with the accumulated sourness that seemed to rise from his stomach in flame tendrils, feeling as if he was snorting out smoke through his nostrils. When no smoke came and the irritation of his taste buds doused down, he spoke again, albeit in a significantly raspier voice.

“I reckon it’s a friend, or even a family member.” It was a hit-or-miss game, his eyes watchful for any kind of reaction on her frowned visage. “Maybe a lover,” he added with a wink and a smirk, trying to lighten the gloomy morning mood with a jest, but it seemed wasted on Asuka. Although, now that Victor thought about it more, that would explain her disdain towards men, him included. It was distasteful to even think of such irrational things, but the prizefighter saw quite a few things in his life, and women that liked women were an abstract and rare but known occurrence. Strangely attractive as well. There was something eerily exotic even in a thought of such sexual preference.

“Either way, I’m ready to leave whenever you are,” he said in a more serious tone, casting aside the large portion of joviality. What remained was packed in his following question. “Do we have some kind of a plan this time around? Or do we do the usual, knock on the front door and ask if they have some slaves for sale?”

By now, Victor was used to the lack of tactics when he traveled alongside Asuka. The redhead was as straightforward as straightforward could get, straying into negligence more often then not and risking her own wellbeing even if it wasn’t necessary. That fearlessness was the main reason why the prizefighter kept escorting the redhead, partially because he admired that trait, but mostly because that trait was a shortcut to the very heart of trouble. And regardless of how stubborn she was and how reluctant to admit it, Asuka needed somebody to help her out of the pickles she got in.

[AsukaStrikes]

The bitter herbal drink made the Akashman's body shiver with warmth every time the greenish liquid slipped down her throat, though she must admit that it was virtually nothing compared to the tantalizing flavor of the fabled Lavinian Ale. If anything, the tea gave her an emotional longing for the legendary drink she had only been able to savor during the Serenti Invitational. If anything, it reminded her of the bitter history behind it as well as her own upbringing.

Still, there was a more pressing matter at hand. Frankly speaking, it was not the time for sweet reminiscing.

"You just had to know, don't you?" Asuka let out a defeated sigh as she let the ceramic cup return to its dainty saucer. It was an inevitable question to an inevitable truth. He was bound to find out one day, whether she told him about it or not. Even though the reason was, in essence, the only reason she left home at all, it had now became a goal she hope to get done someday in the future. Not next week. Not next month. Not next year. But, of course, it could be the next day.

So she had to tell him. No matter the outcome, it would have to be made know one way or another.

"It's... Someone who looks like me." The answer came, heavy and gloomy. Her brows cringed together as she continued, her right hand still gripping the teacup's frail white handle. "A girl, born into nobility, by the name of Yamihara Asuka. Everybody said we look exactly alike... Our hair, our faces... Hell, even our bodies look alike, they say..."

Even as she was telling him this, she did not look up from the rugged oak table. Her eyes remained transfixed to the tiny green waves rippling around in the pool of herbal drink left at the bottom of her cup. She did not feel like looking up - At Victor or at anyone.

"So I had to find out. I had to know. But then, that stupid snob just had to run away from home. What a moron..."

No... She knew Yamihara was thrown out from the Estate simply for being a tomboy. It was the way those rich aristocrats kept their images of being the elites intact since their establishment - Throw out the trouble makers and force them into exile. And it had to be that Asuka who rebelled.

"So... Now I have to find her and ask her why we look so much alike... Or rather... Find out if we're anything alike at all..."

The fragile handle snapped off in her fingers, sending tiny shards of white ceramic flitting onto the table as well as on the floor. However, she did not even hint a wince or a casual glance.

"It's such a trivial thing, now that I think about it. Still... It'll be good to know."

Her mind drifted off as she let the words hang in the still air, hearing only silence in the midst of happy chatters and shouting patrons within the Stags. It was not merely a trivial quest on her behalf... No, more along the lines of thoughtless and selfish, to be more precise. It should not even matter more than a few seconds the reasons why the two Akashiman, both given the name "Asuka" by their parents, looked so much alike. Or maybe...

Maybe it was not so selfish at all, if there was something between the two.

"Hm?" The swordmaiden peered at the piece of ceramic in her fingers curiously as she lifted her hand up, realizing that only the handle followed her will while the teacup remained resting on the saucer. "Who in Kazen's name broke my cup? Eh, whatever."

Carelessly tossing the broken handle over her shoulder, she grabbed the vessel and brought it to her mouth, downing the mildly bitter beverage ina single gulp. The tingling sensation left in its wake subsided a few moments later and she returned her gaze to Victor, after having avoided his sight for so long before.

"Maybe you have a point about the door-knocking deal, but we should try something different this time around. As much as I like to storm the fort, I suspect things would end up like the last time if we tried that out here."

The last time meant breaking into the Battle Arena back in Serenti. Even though resistance did not show up until the two of them had entered the manager's lair, the cur had already known and set up a trap. This time, she would make sure there would be no trap waiting for them.

"I still don't know where this... What was it again, Something Armoury? Whatever. I still don't know where our target is, so a bit of snooping should do us some good. Just to see if it's worth knocking on their doors with our fists and feet."

She was not very good with coming up with plans, but it felt necessary to at least have something so their entire escapade would not be wasted effort. What if the intel was wrong? What if there was no slave-trafficking in Underwood? What if there was no such place as that whorehouse mentioned in the slave trader's list?

She would rather die than live on in embarassment.

[The Cinderella Man]

The veil of secrecy was finally lifted and it made Victor think how there was no need for it in the first place. He expected some skeleton to finally peek from her closet, something that would cast a shadow on her pursuit, but it seemed that all she was looking for was her long lost twin. Why Asuka deemed this information so important that she refused to reveal it up until now was beyond the boxer; it’s not like it would change his opinions and intentions. But then again, there were a lot of things that weren’t quite regular about the redhead, so this new one wasn’t much of a surprise. Perhaps, though she was generally quite rambunctious, she had a tendency to be rather wary when it comes to confiding in others. Even if those others risked their neck to save her scrawny ass. Several times. And got nothing but insults in return.

“If they are indeed twins, I bet this Yamihara girl got to be the nice one.” She certainly couldn’t be the bitchy one; there was enough of acrimony in Asuka for three teenagers, not two. Though, when he looked at the whole predicament from a different angle, perhaps they were alike in both the body and the demeanor. Their parents might’ve found two such wildcats too much to handle, so they separated them before they managed to claw at each other. It was, of course, an unlikely scenario. Far more sensible one was that their parents merely separated and each one got to foster one of the children. It wouldn’t be the first broken home the prizefighter heard about. Or it could’ve been...

“Maybe there was some mix-up when you were born,” he mused, toying with the cup in his hand and the remaining tea leaves. “Maybe you two are twins that got separated at birth and wound up with different parents.”

It was a wild speculation, of course, and one that had no firm foundations on any of the facts. The reason for that was that Victor simply didn’t know any of the facts about Asuka. The two of them were traveling companions for over a week now, and this morning after getting hammered together was the first time the red-haired swordsmaiden revealed anything about herself. Well, the second time; she revealed quite a lot last night. Though, truth be told, the lack of knowledge was partially Vic’s blame as well. Unlike some who would prod and chisel at her stony exterior, he preferred pondering and brooding. Needless to say, their conversations weren’t overly verbose, making them a rather odd couple. If they even could be called a couple, that is.

“Either way, we won’t find out the truth by sitting here. Sevelin said that the Ironclad Armory was in the east part of the city, so we should ask around there,” Victor added, fishing out several gold pieces from the chaotic inventory of his pockets and setting them on the table before getting up. Though it wasn’t a very rapid motion, the headache that seemed to be remedied by the tea while he was sitting struck his temple like an ice pick, forcing him to squint his eyes. Luckily, it was only temporary, a remnant of the last night’s intoxication, so it went away by the time he reached the door. And then, of course, it returned again.

The morning sun was so vibrant that it seemed to heat the streets to the point they looked like a piece of iron in the fire of the forge. Or at least that was the first impression. Once Victor’s sporadic headache subsided again and his pupils narrowed enough to compensate the difference in illumination, it was apparent that there was nothing but another clear autumn day waiting for them outside the door. The traffic wasn’t so busy here in the outskirts, so the pair had little trouble moving through the streets. More important then the visual part of the Underwood suburbs was the air. Cool and fresh as it was drawn into their lungs, carrying the grassy scent of the forest, it was more of a cure for their hangover then any tea ever could be. It even managed to strike some color into Asuka’s cheeks, making her look much healthier then moments ago.

“So yeah, about how we should approach this armory... I think I might have a plan.” The difference in the environment seemed to grease the cogs in his brain and his gray matter actually started to operate on more then just a basic level. “But I’m pretty sure you’re not going to like it.”

He was absolutely certain that the red-haired wildcat wouldn’t like it, but when he took all the factors into calculation, it seemed like the best angle. “We know that they’re buying exclusively slavegirls with red hair in this Ironclad Armory, right? Well, you certainly match the description. Now, before you hit me, just let me finish.” The boxer was quick to add the last part, keeping a wary eye on any sudden movements by his uncouth companion. Once he reckoned that he was safe from any harm, he continued. “We could pretend to be there to do some slave trading, just long enough to get some information. Then we can tear down the place if you like.”

It was a good plan, a bit chancy, but definitely better then just trying to beat the truth out of whoever was in charge. Chances were that whoever ran this shindig had some protection as well; Ermano Worth taught them that lesson quite well. So rushing headlong was likely to make them hit a rather sturdy wall. And Victor was aching already from colliding with all those walls.

[AsukaStrikes]

Asuka could not believe he said that.

It was insane, that was one thing that came to mind. Then again, it was not completely outrageous that it would not work. If they played their cards right, those unlawful thugs would never know what hit them. The humiliation Asuka had to go through, of course, was the only thing pulling at her nerves.

As hardened as she might have been in her normal traveling clothes, the wildcat was anything but dangerous in her temporary disguise. Stripped of her gears, the swordmaiden was clad in a simple, ragged dress that the duo had fished from a nearby trash dump. A length of rope wound three times around her waist, holding the rags on her body and revealing some contour to her otherwise plain figure. Another piece of rope stretched out from the knot at her waistband and bound her wrists together with a good length left hanging from the knot, not unlike a real slavegirl. A part Asuka never thought she would ever have to play in her life.

And it irked her greatly. It was not the discomfort of not wearing pants or the empty feeling of not having Kazeryu pull at her waist, but rather the tattered skirt hem that ended abruptly just above her knees. Way too short for her liking. Coupled with the texture of soft green grass and cool dry dirt against her callous-riddled feet, the sensation was oddly welcoming and frightening at the same time.

"You owe me. Big time." The lass growled through reddened cheeks, her bound hands pulling feebly at the hem of her ragged dress to try and cover more of her legs. "I can't believe I let you talke me into this..."

She could go on and on with the ranting and raging tirade, but the usual spitfire held her tongue. Her thoughts rewinded to the words her burly partner had said, the meaning spiraling through the torrent within her head. Could that Asuka girl she was so adamant on finding really her sister? Could they really be twins? Identical twins? What are the odds...?

Urgh... My head... Asuka grimaced as she glanced at her rough canvas sack lying on the grass nearby, feeling a bit lightheaded from the residual alcoholic toxin still in her system. I should start thinking less and focus...

"Right... Let's get this over with..." The maiden finished with a sigh, trying to tug down her skirt in vain for the third time.

She had no intention of staying in this sorry state for long. Just standing here in front of Victor was already embarassing enough. With a disdainful sigh, the usually brazen lass bowed her head and stuck out her rope-entwined hands.

Lead the way...

[The Cinderella Man]

It was only in a world as crazy as the one that revolved around the audacious redhead that Victor somehow wound up owing her. They were executing a plan he came up with, following a lead he plucked from Ermano’s trading manifests in order to save her twin. And yet he was owing her. Those unfamiliar with Asuka’s demeanor would’ve interpreted her words as whining of an ingrate, but the boxer knew better. Or at least he hoped he did. He reckoned it was simply the way the redhead dealt with situations, clinging to her stiffness and callousness simply because she hated to look vulnerable. And while this pride was usually an asset to any human being – regardless of the gender – sometimes it wound up being a stick that went far up Asuka’s behind. And since it was obviously a chronic disease, you either got used to it and its effects or you walked away. And Victor wasn’t walking away. Not yet anyways.

Instead, he was walking behind his newly acquired slave, suddenly finding it very hard to concentrate on anything except holding the rope that extended to her waist. Not only did his mind find rather interesting this ironic turn of events that turned the tables on Asuka and shifted her role from the dominating one to the one where she is being under dominance, but it also found Asuka’s new attire... intriguing at the very least. The skirt was no more then a heap of rags patched way too many times for its own good, and yet even in this scraggly grayish attire the red-haired maiden looked more like a woman then in any other situation Victor saw her. Well, except maybe last night. All the same, the skirt maybe smelled a bit funky and it looked... well, like something either a beggar or a slave would wear which made it rather appropriate. But it also covered way less then Asuka was comfortable with.

“We can switch places if you want to,” the prizefighter said, trying to lighten up the situation with a jest. He was pretty certain that it would fall on deaf ears. “But that dress is too small for me and we’d have to dye my hair.”

Though he was unable to see it, Victor was pretty certain that Asuka rolled her eyes, annoyed by both the joke and the situation. Still, she continued walking ahead of him without a pause, leading the way through the narrow alleys of Underwood, where questioning eyes were scarce and where even the sun barely got a chance to take a peek. A handful of people that did cross their paths with the uncanny pair – a rather rotund barmaid tossing some cabbage leftovers in the gutter, a filthy street urchin that dug through the trash, a shady looking gentleman with a lizard’s smile – did their best to ignore them. Slavery was outlawed from Corone, so anyone who still had the guts to pursue this line of work was either pretty damn crazy or pretty damn ballsy. And most people were pretty damn certain that the best route to take was ignorance.

Just about when Victor was about to suggest that Asuka should consider wearing this kind of outfit more often – a statement which she would’ve probably rewarded with one of those ‘steely glances’ – they swung around a corner of a rundown wooden shack and arrived in front of the Ironclad Armory. The place didn’t look like anything ironclad to Victor, let alone an armory, what with its façade that was peeling off, roof that seemed to bend in a very structurally questionable manner, cobwebs between the columns on the porch. But despite resembling an establishment that was out of business for at least a couple of years, a sign saying ‘open’ dangled on the door.

“Well, here we are. Time to look miserable,” Victor said to his companion, but one look at her face and the boiling annoyance and anger made it rather clear that there was no room for misery, despite the fact that it loved company. “Or frustrated. That could work too,”

This time, the boxer led the way, tapping the door with Asuka’s sheathed sword before turning the knob and pushing the door inwards. The interior was pretty much in sync with the exterior, looking derelict and smelling of dust and stale merchandise. There were goods on display, both weaponry and armor arranged rather neatly on the shelves, but there was scarcely a good item amongst them. It seemed that the customers recognized this as well, because most of the stuff was grayed by a layer of dust. It seemed the shopkeeper recognized this as well, because he was nowhere to be seen. Until Victor entered the shop, that is, followed by the tied redhead.

“Drop the sword!” a voice commanded from behind. By the time the prizefighter-turned-slaver turned, he found himself looking down the length of a crossbow held by a skinny man that emerged from behind the door. It was incentive enough to do what he was told. “Good. Now who the hell you are and what the hell are you doing here?”

It took a while for Victor to come to terms with the role he was supposed to play, and once he did, he spoke with as much calm as he could muster. “Hey, take it easy. Ermano Worth sent me to do a trade for him. He told me redheads...”

“Horsedung!” the man spat through the teeth as crooked and as yellow as a half-eaten corncob, taking another step forward. “Ermano Worth wouldn’t be sending an idiot such as you. Parading the little bitch like that through the streets... What are you? A ranger? CAF? Or just a hero out for glory? I need to know where to send your corpse.” Another step took the threatening man as close as he could get, the tip of the bolt in his crossbow nearly touching Victor’s face.

Victor wanted to panic. His inside screamed at him to panic, to do something, to make a move for the crossbow before the damn thing claims his life. Being caught in the heat of a battle was one thing; there was no time to think or deliberate there. But when you could see death staring at you, your knees grew weak regardless of how gutsy you were. Because if you weren’t afraid, you were insane. But before the entire situation blew into their faces, the boxer managed to find his voice again.

“Alright, alright, fine! Maybe Ermano didn’t send me. Maybe I got tired of him making all the money on the goods I find for him. So I decided to cash in this one myself. She might not look like much, but she’s from Akashima. Those always fetch a good price, right?” Victor spoke, adding a sleazy smug smile at the end and nodding towards Asuka. The scrawny man with the crossbow seemed to deliberate for a couple of seconds, but when he heard the word ‘Akashima’ and beheld the redhead, his menacing expression changed to a more affable one.

“Akashima, you say? Boss man has one of those I think. Looks a lot like this one too. Fiery little bitches they are,” he spoke, ultimately dropping his crossbow and diverting his grabby eyes and hands towards Asuka. He reached for her behind with his free hand, but even as he did so, a metallic click could be heard.

“Hey, hands off,” Victor spoke, holding his gun drawn at his hip. “Once I see this boss of yours and get my money, you can do with her whatever you wish.” The man didn’t seem to appreciate the threat at first, his head snapping sideways and his finger itchy on the trigger of the crossbow. But his villainous visage changed into a gruesome, wide smile soon enough.

“Oh, cheeky little bastard you are. Mister Guilory doesn’t like cheeky bastards. He likes redheads though. I bet he’ll pay a hefty sum for this one,” the man said, flipping the sign on the door before closing and bolting them. “Come, come. Gared will take you to the boss man.”

[AsukaStrikes]

It felt strange.

That was the only thing that registered in her mind as they marched through the streets, passing by the indifferent stares and averting gazes. Strange that such an image did not strike curiosity within their hearts, nor any compassion that was to be had for a soul such as her.

...What's wrong with these people...?

It was almost as if they had expected to see something like this on a daily basis, either that or it had become a common sight to this area of the city. But their reaction was an unnerving one as well, how they all looked away from the blatant evil deed that should be banished for all eternity and never to be mentioned again.

Asuka never felt so lost in her life.

All through the ordeal which transpired between Victor and the storefront dealer barely caught the maiden's attention, despite the apparent dangers from trigger-happy fingers both men seemed to have. She did not even notice the hand which started for her rump, not until the odd click startled her from the deep abyss within her mind.

...Gun...

Asuka almost bolted when the word crossed her mind, the lass barely able to contain herself from thrashing out in panic before her eyes came upon the silvery death in her supposed captor's hand. Keeping her head low and observing the scene from the corner of her eyes, Asuka's legs shivered just slightly through the dealings between the boxer-turned-vigilante and a seedy dealer of human flesh.

...Since when did Victor...?

The Akashiman glared from "Gared" to Victor through her disheveled bangs, keeping her face low and insuspecting as if she was a prisoner being lead to the execution area. Even though the two of them had been able to confirm that this run-down armory was indeed a front for slave-trading, there were more important things to be done now than just "storming the fort" like last time. It did not matter if she was able to stop the slave trade here, for it was not her original intention in the first place.

She needed to know if that "Asuka" was here as well. And the best way to do it was play "Follow the Leader."

At least for the time being.

The shady individuals, two men and one red-headed slave, made their way quietly into a small back room where odd-looking knives and pieces of armor laid strewn across the unorganized shelves, greyed by a finelayer of dust that attested to their time spent with nothing to do. Although much of the musky room was either coated in grey or anchored to each other by translucent strands of cobweb, the path they took through the room appeared well-traveled and recent. The floorboards were the colors of well-polished oak instead of the usual greyish dusky color seen elsewhere. Her eyes narrowed, feeling her ears growing warm as they stopped at what looked like a cheap circular rug made from patches of cloth haphazardly stitched together.

...Trap...Door?

A few moments later, they slowly made their way through the damp tunnel underneath the peaceful Underwood, completely unseen and unheard. But even as they started off on their journey, Asuka nearly gagged and felt her head explode, the shock of unbearable stench threatening to strangle her petite throat almost caused her to lash out in frustration and irritation. Her eyes started to water, the rancid gases and floating pieces of things unspeakable forcing her stomach to dump their contents on the tunnel wall.

No wonder those so-called Rangers never found out where they went...

But they could not stop, not for her to catch her breath or get used to the offending stench. They had to keep on going, with Victor playing the slaver by forcefully tugging her along despite her gradual protest of movement. They had to keep up the illusion of the maiden being forced against her will, to which she tried her best by occasionally refusing to move as she gagged along the way.

...F... Finally... She thought as her eyes spotted the solid metallic loops rising up along the far wall, the travel guide proceeding before them up the short stairway to the rather bright room above. Finally... somewhere that I can breath without throwing up all the time...

But she never had a chance to catch another breath when a sharp strike from behind sent her frail form flying forwards, the jarring sensation vibrating from her spine all the ways up into ther brain. Asuka never saw who attacked her, nor did she realize the boxer leading her was meeting up with a set of problems himself.

"Ugh..."

((Right. Sorry for the long wait, but here it is. Yur turn, Padre.))

[The Cinderella Man]

The sewers were everything a man could expect from them; dim, repulsive and reeking like a pile of horse dung left beneath the summer sun. It was a scene that most people lived their whole life without witnessing. And they weren’t missing all that much. The only illumination descended through the grates above in beams as thick as if they were made of wood instead of light, but it offered little respite. On the contrary, this sharp light mocked them, giving them occasional glimpses of a world above, where air was breathable and where rats weren’t as big as dogs. Asuka vomited. Victor couldn’t blame her. It took every ounce of his willpower and gut-resilience to keep the contents of his stomach in check and prevent them from painting the slimy floor with another repugnant motif. Unfortunately for the restrained lass, Gared seemed to be immune to the despicable effects of the sewer, his pace offering no room for rest.

It was then and there, when she puked her guts out in some godforsaken section of Underwood sewers, that the boxer felt sorry for Asuka for the first time since he met her. So far she had been a cocky little firecracker that would rather blow up in your face then admit weakness, but right now she looked so... so vulnerable, so human. Some of it was the act she put up, he knew, but he doubted she was that good of a thespian to fake every aspect of her current performance. He wanted to hold her. He knew that she would probably slug him if he tried and if the situation allowed such intimacy to take place, but he wanted to all the same. Maybe she was a cold bitch most of the time, but that wasn’t all she was, regardless of how much she insisted on a frigid disposition.

Sadly, there was little time for in-depth musings and trips down the emotion lane. The brief walk through the subterranean world of sewage brought them to their goal, but there was no prize waiting for them at the end. None save the blunt force trauma. Asuka, who followed Victor’s lead, was the first one to get hers as one of the goons crept from god-knows-where and behind her. The dull sound of the metal pipe hitting the bone of the skull followed by the thud of her body falling made the boxer turn on his heels abruptly. Just in time to see the same pipe coming to rearrange his ugly mug. Unlike his fallen companion, however, the fact that he saw it coming enabled him to use his pugilistic reflexes. He dodged to the left, let the strike and the man pass by him before he pushed him away and into the flowing much of the sewers.

“Spry little bastard you are,” Gared’s voice came from up ahead, where the scrawny man stood next to the ladder down which a pair of obscenely huge men descended. The pair of hulks stood before the slaver, six hundred pounds of oversized goons, their simple clothes barely containing their muscles. Behind them, the gruesome man cackled, his vocalization echoing through the canals as if they were a part of a nightmare. “Did you really think I’d take you to Boss man so you can trade with him? He doesn’t trade with lowlifes like you. He takes what he wants from them.”

It made sense the way things always made sense in hindsight. Of course they wouldn’t buy the whole trade story. Why would they do business with a solitary slaver when they could just take his ‘booty’ and toss him into the sewers? They weren’t honest traders and fair men that followed the simple codes of training. They were criminals and they wrote their own rules.

“You and your Boss are about to get a fistful of led if you don’t back off,” Victor spat back at the man and his overgrown apes, yanking his revolver out of the holster. The oily click of the hammer was almost like thunder in the acoustic tunnels. The sound of a two-by-four that crashed against the side of his face was the thunder in his head. His perception was obviously no match to a low-light surrounding like this one. It was the only way to explain how one of the bastards sneaked up behind him to send him against the wall. By the time the prizefighter gathered his bearings and located his attacker, the shit-covered man with the pipe was back in the picture, introducing his weapon to Vic’s gut. Victor’s hand tried to raise the gun, point it as something, shoot off someone’s face, but the wooden plank knocked the weapon away before it nearly knocked his head off his neck as well. Before the pipe met his face again, he heard Gared say something. It sounded like...

“Amateurs. Nothing quite like ripping them off.”

***

A couple of hours later, the world crept back into existence on the back of a slug. It was the second time in a very short time span that Victor was waking up after getting seriously hammered, and just like the first time, he woke up to the same image. Well, a similar one anyways. The first thing that he acknowledged wasn’t there the first time. He was prone and the side of his throbbing face pressed against cold stone that felt oddly soothing on the spot where that plank connected with his head. The second thing was much more familiar. It was a redhead that lay next to him, motionless. His eyes panned out from her serene visage to ascertain the surroundings.

There wasn’t much to be seen, not with the amount of light that crept through the bars of the cell the pair shared. There was a single cot hanging from the wall, but it wasn’t sturdy enough to support itself, let alone a human body. Straw was scattered on the floor, but it was long since it was dry, freshly cut hay that smelled anything but fresh. Somewhere in the hallways that led away from the cell, a torch was burning so low it seemed to be in danger of going out at any moment.

“Great. Another screw-up,” Victor commented, pushing himself up and rubbing the side of his face. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go down. But now that he thought about, what exactly did he expect with a half-baked plan such as the one he and Asuka made? Not a lot, but more then getting rammed up the ass during the first stage of it. Reaching towards his unconscious companion, Vic touched the redhead’s shoulder and gave her a gentle shake. “Hey, wildcat, wake up. I think we’re in a world of trouble again.”

[AsukaStrikes]

Had the wildcat been in the same place as the prizefighter, she would definitely be waking up with a splitting headache and ready give some to the man. But the form Victor thought was Asuka, lying motionless and slowly decaying, was not the maiden herself.

Around her, there was only darkness.

It was the only thing which greeted her mind's eyes as she felt sensation returning to her fingers. Slowly but sure, warmth crept back to her mind followed by the soothing chill of the cold stone floor.

"Ungh..."

What... happened...?

Asuka felt like a pile of manure as she tried to recollect whatever happened until the moment she opened her eyes. Moments ago, she remembered, she was being led through a tunnel filled with refuse and unspeakable stench. It was the only thing her mind could remember - and face it, something that repulsive was hard to ignore or forget. It was dark, with a small beam of light shining a short ways from where she was standing.

And then something struck her. Hard.

"Hey, Anita. Look. She's awake."

...!

Asuka bolted upright as soon as the whisper reached her ears, the lass immediately regretting the move. Pain rippled through her head like a firebrand, her head seemingly melting from it like thick yellow butter. The dark-hue room spun out of control and a moment later, the red-hair girl felt the wall rush up to meet her against her temple.

"Ugh- Quit spinnin' the room, will ya..." She muttered angrily, pressing the side of her head against the wall in a vain attempt to keep it from splitting in two. The pain began to subside, although the dizziness remained.

In the middle of it all, she could hear muffled whimpers and a few startled shrieks that seemed strangely distant. Irked and cranky from the awkward sleep she had, the maiden cracked her eyes open in the direction of the noises.

...What...?

Asuka saw faces staring back at her - some young, barely breaking their teen years and even less. Others were showing signs of aging, though still beautiful in their own way. All of them seemed to be mistreated for the most parts, darkening bruises contrasting their pale skin and quite a few riddled with small cuts on their arms and legs. One disturbing fact about them all, as Asuka finally regained her sight in the darkness around her, was that they all had red hair.

...Wha...?!

"Hey, you're awake." A calm, sweet voice came from around the side of the crowded girls. The Akashiman snapped her head to see whoever was speaking and felt the splitting ache shot through the back of her head. Growling in pain, Asuka dropped her shoulder against the wall in a vain attempt to let the cold chill soothe her pain.

"Oh, dear. You shouldn't make such sudden movement, miss." The voice came again through the darkness, followed by a warm pale hand that touched lightly on her shoulder. "Stay still for a while and let the pain subside."

"Wha...?" Asuka tried to respond, only to have the sensation of a thousand pin attack her head once more. In defeat, she resigned to rest against the wall while feebly holding on to her forehead.

...Wait. This is...!

As soon as she ignored the pain coming from the back of her head, her memories came back as clear as day. At the beginning of the day - or so she believed - she and Victor were here to spy in on a slave-trading crossroad and hopefully break it apart. Fate took them through twists and turns, she ended up playing the part of a supposed "captured" red-head as their ticket inside the slave-trading ring. But things turned from bad to worse, the end result being this...

"...How long was I out?"

The other girls backed away from their new cellmate, as if fearing this person was somehow going to bite their heads off if no good reasons were given. Asuka was not feeling like doing such a trivial thing, however, and grunted at their inane response.

"...No, scratch that..." The maiden let out another grunt, rolling her head to the side to look at the lady speaking to her a little while back. "How long had you guys been in here...?"

((Sorry, old man. Looks like we got separated. Let's see where things go from here.))

[The Cinderella Man]

“Bleeding hell! A corpse!” Victor shouted out when he rolled Asuka over. Only the redhead that currently shared his cell wasn’t the redhead that shared his bed last night. The hair of the cadaver was kissed by fire just as Asuka’s, but the rest didn’t fit the bill of his bitchy companion. This poor girl had a different garb – a dress that he could barely imagine on Asuka – and her bruised face had an almost tawny complexion. Not to mention that this lass was extremely dead, and given how clammy her skin was and how unpleasantly she smelled, she had been thus for quite a while now. Her eyes were open, though, glazed azures that stared at the ceiling and saw nothing. The prizefighter moved his fingers over them to close them, but rigor mortis had locked her eyelids days ago, making them reopen every time he tried to close them. Out of decency (and the fact that the wide open eyes of a dead girl looked quite creepy) Victor took off his coat and covered the corpse.

“Well, at least it’s not Wildcat,” he thought, steadily regaining his footing. His head still throbbed with pain like most hurt things did, but such a sensation occurred so often in his line of work that he was able to endure it without falling flat on his ass. Aside from the dead redhead, the decrepit cot was the only thing of interest in the cubical cell, but when he applied some force on the wooden bed, his hand went right through it. The pair of chains that held the cot were still quite sturdy, though, the rust taking none of their durability. Victor tried to yank one out of the wall, but it looked like he’d sooner tear out a stone brick out of the wall then the chain out of the stone brick. It was the same with the iron bars and the door. They all looked like something forgotten for centuries, but they all retained their sturdiness.

Victor was kicking at the foot of one of the bars, hoping to get it loose, when a voice called him out. “Hey!” it said in a whisper. It seemed to come from the opposite cell, but when the imprisoned prizefighter strained his eyes and peered across the hall, there was nothing to be seen in the cell. “Hey, you. New guy,” it uttered again in a hushed tone. Only when a hand popped up from behind the wall and knocked against the rightmost bar of Vic’s cell did the boxer realize that the voice was coming from the cell next to his.

“Yeah?” Victor responded, footslogging to the other end of his cell.

“How’s it going?” the voice behind the hand said, the scrawny fingers wriggling as if they expected a handshake. The boxer accepted warily, bringing his face so close to the bars that he felt the coldness of the metal. “It’s a dumb question, I know. How’s it going? How the hell does it look? We’re all trapped, right? How else could it be going? Though some fare better then others. Some of us are lucky. Some of us didn’t get locked in with a corpse. That’s funny. I’m Zeno. I’m in charge here.”

The man spoke in rapid succession, as if he was in a hurry to dictate everything he had to say, chuckling beneath his breath every time he finished a sentence. Though Victor couldn’t see the man, he could imagine how he looked; small, scrawny, with a vacant look of a loony in his eyes. Probably old as well given the arthritic grasp of his fingers.

“Don’t you mind old Zeno, stranger,” another voice came just as Victor finally pried his hand away from the callous fingers of his neighbor. In the cell parallel to that of old Zeno, a tall man hobbled to the bars. One of his eyes was shut by the swelling and his left elbow pressed against his ribs. His face was sturdy enough in comparison of his half-broken constitution, his one keen eye peering at the prizefighter beneath a bushy eyebrow. “He’d been here for too long and maggots got into his head. Not that they had much to find there to begin with, I reckon.”

“Oh, the big bad Ranger is always so nice,” Zeno again, clearly mocking his cellmate in a childish voice. “He’s just grumpy that they got him as well. Them Rangers aren’t so tough, that’s what I always said. They ride their pretty horses...”

A tin plate came from the cell adjacent to the Ranger’s, clattering against Zeno’s bars and silencing the chatty man. For good measure, a voice reprimanded the old man. “Shut it, idiot!” The owner of a voice didn’t show his face, but according to the sound and depth, it belonged to someone quite young. Zeno went skittering to the back of his cell, cackling.

“It’s alright, Vernon. He’s right; we’re not so tough. We’re just human as well,” the Ranger said in a tutoring voice. When he turned to Victor, he continued. “What’s your name, stranger? I am Doran Drydale, and next to me is my squire, Vernon Bottelby.”

“I’m Victor Callahan,” the boxer responded, leaning his forearms on the horizontal bar and resting against it. “How long have all of you been locked up in here?”

“Too long.”

[AsukaStrikes]

((Umm... Yeah. I kinda died. Good thing Raven had a resuscitation kit.))

Asuka stared blankly at the shifting mass of shadow gathered at the far side of the cell, listening quietly to the sound of dripping water with a scowl on her face. Everywhere she looked, all she could see were rusted iron bars as thick as her thumb and cragged enough to slice open someone's arm. What little light there was came from lone torch poking out from the moss-covered walls, the bits of greens closest to the flames bleached a sickly white tone.

She could see well enough, though, that the occupants within the cell were not the only ones here. To the left and beyond, she could hear other sounds of grief and sorrow, silent shuffles of weary bodies pulling close to one another in order to live through the listless night. Or so she assumed, for there were no windows to see the stars outside. The clammy chill which swept in from time to time, however, was the only sign of change in the air she could register. It also made her feel as cold as a dead bird in snow, she grudgingly noticed, and tried to rub some warmth back into her bare arms.

"Damnable, stupid guy." She muttered under her breath, each hiss of her tongue bringing forth a stream of cloud which lingered for a few seconds in front of her nose. "Sure, leave it to ol' Victor. His plans always works."

The lass growled angrily at the thought of that boxer, clenching her arms tight until the skin under her fingers began to turn red.

"...stupid show-off..."

As if a great fire had been snuffed by the frigid shower of gloom, the once fiery warrior closed her eyes and merely leaned over, landing with a flop onto the hard stone floor of the cell. The cold glare in her eyes all but disappeared, replaced by a wet streak of water which leaked out from the side of her face.

...I don't like it here...

Darkness crept about the tiny cell with the silence of a moth, circling the lass as she drew herself inwards and curled against the lumpy walls lined with moss. The chill did not go away, but instead slowly consumed her entire back and slithered up her spine like nightmarish tendrils of ice. And to all this, the maiden could only hear herself let out a lonesome sob as the shadow itself hovered at her face, drowning out the sole source of light there was in the cramp cellar room.

I don't want to die in here...

However, the darkness disappeared and was replaced by a warm sensation upon her bare skin, which soon fought back against the numbing chill that had slithered up her shoulders. The air no longer felt cold and clammy, the dead grip of dread and loneliness no longer intruding on her mind.

And light returned to her vision, accompanied by a smile and long flowing locks of fire.

"There, all better now?" The figure spoke softly, her eyes seemingly smiling on their own as the speaker eased herself against the wall at Asuka's feet.

Confounded, the Akashiman girl touched the object covering her form and realized it to be a sheet of ragged white cloth. It was not a truly clean one, however, speckled with patches of green, brown and red in certain places throughout the fabric. It was a rather warm piece of cloth, however, and it felt almost too good to be true.

"My mother gave that to me on my fifteenth birthday." The smiling stranger plainly stated out of the blue, her sapphire eyes staring wishfully at the impenetrable ceiling of stone above their heads. "Made of the finest cotton grown in Gisela. Warm, isn't it?"

Asuka silently nodded her head, rising from the chilly floor with a weary push of her arms. Her eyes drifted from the speaker to the point beyond their confinement, wondering what exactly the other woman was thinking. Some of the younger slaves stirred from their sleep, quietly eyeing the two grown ups converse with one another before cuddling closer to their friends in bondage, lending each other warmth to compensate for whatever else was lacking.

"...Why aren't you using it yourself?" Asuka bluntly asked, turning her eyes back to look at the owner with mixed feelings of suspicion and gratitude. Despite the dim lighting, the lass could already see a good number of old bruises rising out from the skin in patches of blue and green. One such marks ringed the woman's entire upper arm, beginning to change from sickly green to a deep shade of blue.

"No, I'll be fine." She replied with a simple smile. "I don't believe I will need this after a while..."

The lady suddenly let out a ragged coughed, startling the younger ones and alarming some of the older women awake from their slumber. Asuka immediately reached out to hold the woman's shaking form, who weakly tried to push the lass away with one of her free hands.

"Hey, miss. What's the matter?!" Asuka shouted, startling awake the others nearby. "If you're the one with the cold, why did you-"

The lass could not finish her train of words when she felt something wet splatter across her hand and looked at them in the orange glow of the torch. The skin of her hand was dyed a sick crimson color by speckles of liquids, a substance which she could never forget no matter how hard she tried. The older woman did not stop coughing, which finally caught the attention of one of the more active youth huddled in the cell to feverishly rush over to her side.

"Elizabeth, not again!" The girl shouted over the wet coughing sound, pulling the cotton blanket from Asuka's back and throwing it over Elizabeth's own form. "What in the name of Y'edda did you do that for?! You know you can't let your body get any colder or you'll die!"

...she'll die?

Elizabeth simply smiled back at the two young girls, a trail of wet red fluid dribbling from a corner of her mouth.

"Oh, it's not so bad, Nami." She softly stated, rubbing her blood-stained hands against the hem of her rags which had taken a deep red tone. "It's not like I'm going to be anymore helpful to you girls much longer."

"D-Don't say that, Elizabeth!" The girl called Nami practically hollered at the elder, throwing her arms around the latter as if she was afraid of being separated from each other. "Of course, you're helpful! You've always helped us when we're sad and down! Don't leave us, please!"

Seated quietly beside the lovesick story unfolding in the theather with no audience, Asuka looked on in deep contemplation as Nami quietly ushered the elder red-head to sleep wearing the blanket she was given earlier that night. Instead of a mind filled with gloom and despair, the internal works started moving inch by inch.

Somehow...

[The Cinderella Man]

“There was a woman I traveled with, a redhead. You didn’t happen to see...” Victor tried to inquire about Wildcat, but he was cut short by the harsh voice of the Ranger.

“You mean, your slave?” There was an accusation in his tone, as blatant as the bars of their prison and twice as heavy. It left very little doubt about the feelings he had towards slavers.

“No, no, no. I don’t think there’s a man that could ever tame that redhead, let alone enslave her, trust me,” the boxer insisted, but the joviality of his voice was lost on Doran Drydale. So the prizefighter decided to elaborate. “We were trying to get inside this place by posing as a slaver and his merchandise. Suffice to say, it didn’t work out the way we planned.”

“Well, that sounds awfully familiar,” Vernon said. Coming from somewhere in the back of his cell, his words were laden with irony.

“Indeed it does,” Doran started after carefully searching Victor’s face for deception and finding none. He set his back against the wall with a muffled grunt and placed his single healthy eye on the pugilist. Even in an utterly battered state, there was an aura of dignity around the man, the placid kind of stringency that made you feel like you were talking to your grandfather. “We’d been following a trail of some Syndicate slave runners from Radasanth. They looked like small fish, just running errands for their bosses and setting up the arrangements for their shipments. Most shipments were small, one or two slaves for landlords that lived in their estates where the law could scarcely reach them. But there was one large delivery to be made in Underwood.”

“Thrice damned Underwood,” Vernon added in exasperation.

“I actually think it’s quite lovely. Once you get out to see it,” Zeno felt inclined to point out, finding something to cackle about again. “Lots of green. I like green.”

The veteran Ranger paid no heed to the comments. He merely shifted his weight a bit with a painful sigh and continued in a jaded voice. “We wanted to get both the slavers and the buyers in one swoop, so we got someone on the inside to pose as one of the slaves. Now that I look back at it all, I should’ve never allowed her to take that risk.” The graveness of Doran’s voice made the air heavy and the silence thick, as if the man was a storyteller that just created the world’s greatest suspense before the grand finale. Zeno didn’t seem to notice it, though.

“Hindsight! Hindsight, I say! It’s always twenty-twenty. What’s done is...”

“BE SILENT!” This time it was the haggard Ranger that snapped at the lunatic, his voice echoing within the dungeon walls enough times to amplify Victor’s headache ever so slightly. Zeno’s rant died down to a mutter spoken in a corner of his cell.

“So, what happened?” the fake slaver asked, hanging his arms over the horizontal bar of his cell.

“Somebody tattled. Somebody always does. That’s the only way to explain how they knew we’d be coming for her. They ambushed us, executed most of my men. They probably left Enea, Vernon and me alive to beat some more information out of us. Enea didn’t last long...”

When Doran stopped, the silence from before was back with a vengeance, and this time even the loony next door respected it. Victor didn’t need further clarification. It was quite clear to him that Enea was keeping him company right now, decomposing several feet away from him. And it was also clear that she was more than just a comrade to Doran Drydale. Only love left scars that were so deep that they were reflected in one’s words. Victor’s thoughts fled to Asuka, to the possible demise that befell the bitchy redhead. There was perhaps no love between the two of them, but he couldn’t say that he didn’t like that fiery lass. Would he be telling a sad story about her death some day in the future just like Doran?

Out of respect for this severed connection between the two, the boxer held his tongue for several minutes before shifting the subject from the past to the present.

“So... How do we get out of here?”