tushanshu_logs | it may take two to tango, but boy, it's just one to let go

Entry tags:

it may take two to tango, but boy, it's just one to let go

Characters: Amberdrake and Sanzo
Date: April 3rd
Location: Random Countryside
Situation: Just a couple new guys dropping in! (No, really.)
Warnings/Rating: Cursing, medical gore, angst. Someone gon' get stabbed.

One moment, Amberdrake was sitting comfortably on the roof of the old dojo in Baedal, gazing up at the stars. The side of his head rested against a bony shoulder; the occasional smoke crossed the night sky. There was tea in a mug between his hands, and a shared blanket around both himself and his companion.

The silence was comfortable; warm.

He was content.

Everyone had those dreams where they were falling, didn't they? And they'd jerk their legs as they woke, only to find themselves not falling. It was quite the strange little thing, shared across worlds and races. And here it happened to Drake, too, only when he jerked awake (when had he dozed off? It had been easy enough to do...), he was falling.

Well, landing. It hadn't been too far a drop from that old dojo roof's height to ground height. He landed with an alarmed noise as all the air was knocked straight out of his chest. The kestra'chern stared, dazed, up at a daylight sky. What had happened? This wasn't the old dojo...

Dread settled in his gut. He couldn't sense... where was...

Amberdrake sat up, slow and sluggish, one hand going to his forehead. Minor concussion? No, the ground was soft enough, he thought, and the fall short enough…

Where is he?

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Drake looked at the trees around them as he walked them into the orchard. "Neat rows, well-tended..." he was mostly thinking out loud, to be honest, "this orchard has to belong to someone around here. Let's hope they're either friendly or at least ambivalent."

This close, Sanzo could surely detect that his clothes smelled of Marlboro Reds. Not strong enough to mean he smoked, but enough to mean he was around someone who did. And Sanzo's brand, no less.

Beneath that, there was the assorted massage oils and herbs Drake came into contact with all the time. Not the most suspicious scents on him, by far.

Sanzo stayed silent, unsettled. Why was there so much to do with him involved with this man? He couldn’t even smell in a way that didn’t ping some concern.

His expression, somehow, grew even darker, and he forced himself to push the barrel of the gun harder against the cloth. His finger wasn’t even over the trigger.

Amberdrake glanced down, and for a second his mask actually slipped, so great was the sorrow beneath it. He looked... well, sad about something. Not alarmed, not worried, just... well, like someone holding back on mourning.

"I'm sorry, enar ves'tacha," he allowed himself to murmur, knowing that this Sanzo wouldn't have a clue what that meant.

What the shit was with Sanzo’s talent for attracting those that disturbed him, were desperately sad, or both? Why did the sad ones make Sanzo care? The answer to that question was buried under layers upon layers of denial so it was easy enough to pretend, for now, that this was another weird creep. He knew better but he needed to pretend otherwise.

“Explain-” He had to take a deep breath, a hint of a rattle still in his throat. “-what that means.” There was so much he was desperate to know but this question was easier than the others and he still needed to take his mind off the fact he couldn’t even walk.

Gods, if he let himself wallow he was going to lose it. Drake paused in walking so he could shut his eyes for a second, grounding himself. One moment of weakness, and he shoved himself back under the mask of his profession.

"I refuse," he replied, only after his eyes were back open -- and nice and dry, thank you! -- and they were moving again. That it was a response not unlike something the priest in his arms might say... well, 'shit rubbed off', as it were.

Well this was acting as a good distraction for Sanzo at least. He was too annoyed at the answer to give much thought to how familiar the phrase sounded. The gun slid along the colorful cloth as he shifted to raise his head. No, fuck that, he was going to have at least one answer.

“Explain,” he rasped with the air of someone in the place to be making demands.

Drake didn't even glance down, threading his way through the orchard. "What happened to your right arm?" he countered, finding solid footing in being the kestra'chern.

Sanzo hadn’t noticed his gun had slipped off Drake’s torso all together at this point, instead resting on his uninjured upper arm. He still had a grip on it. He wasn’t going to let it out of reach anymore than he was going to let the sutra leave his person.

“Answer.” What he wouldn’t give to be able to snarl and snap at this asshole until he got somewhere on this. The sharp pain that every word brought with it was strongly discouraging that.

"Just because you want to know," Amberdrake stepped around a younger tree, still held up by a wooden framework. "Does not mean you need to know."

The healer did glance down, this time, but his mask didn't crack again. He wasn't wearing the fake smile he'd had to wear for so many years, but his features were smooth and calm. His heart, deep inside his expert shielding, was anything but smooth or calm.

I lost him. As surely as though the War took him.

And yet, here he was. And he'd need Drake's help going forward, he knew. He remembered what Sanzo was like when his companions weren't around. If he was left alone...

I must think of him as a client, this time. Answer the need... be his kestra'chern, nothing more and nothing less.

That answer got an annoyed grunt with a side of a cough.

With a following “Tch.” Still hurt but he was still incredibly peeved. Where did this asshole get off giving him that sad shit look and then refuse to explain what he said while sounding like he was at a funeral. Why did the sad ones have to be annoying?

Why did he have to be so damned annoying in general? He looked fine now but Sanzo wasn’t going to let that look slide.

“Explain.” If the healer was going to be like this he’d make a nuisance out of himself. Petty, but Sanzo never claimed to be otherwise.

"It takes a mule to repeat a mule's bray," Amberdrake just quoted a proverb in return. The k'Leshya Chief smiled, though it was faint, and more than a touch wry. He had a three year old daughter back in Velgarth, he knew this 'why' game quite well.

He thought he spotted a building, and adjusted his path accordingly. Could the natives be hostile? Of course. Was avoiding them on that chance an option? Not in these circumstances; Sanzo needed more help than he could provide right now. If it came to it, he'd be the distraction. Maybe Sanzo could manage some sort of... something, he didn't know. The sutra, or a well placed bullet or five.

“Shut up.” Okay maybe Sanzo didn’t want the answer to that one right now, not if he had to deal with this shit while only barely put back together. And, like Drake, he was unsure how hostile the locals would be. His right arm better be able to do something or they were screwed. He didn’t trust this man to fight...lack of fear of guns pointed at one’s ribcage aside.

If they just happened to land on a world populated by malicious in-human species, maybe they’d have a shot. He could speak well enough to use the Maten sutra. Still, he wasn’t eager to get into a conflict right now.

Amberdrake didn't reply! Instead, he concentrated on maneuvering them around to the side of the building. His steps grew increasingly quiet as he concentrated on old, old training. Even with a passenger, he was still the son of Kaled'a'in scouts. They had taught him what they could, as a child, even though he'd always been useless with a bow or a knife.

Sneaking, though, that had come in handy more than once in the past few years! And as a child, truth told. All the times he'd slipped past Ma'ar's troops as he tried to reach his family before the War did...

He wouldn't let himself dwell on that right now, either. Much more important things at hand, like the present. Rolling his feet like so, avoiding those leaves, those twigs, keeping his weight balanced...

Drake paused to brace Sanzo against the slant of a gnarled tree for a moment so he could free up one hand to pluck the little clappers out of the bells in his hair. Just another precaution. This wasn't the time for a peace-time kestra'chern. Once the clappers were out, and dumped in a pocket, he adjusted his hold on Sanzo and resumed sneaking.

What would sneaking accomplish? He wasn't sure, but it couldn't harm the situation to be cautious. If they caught a glimpse of the locals before the locals saw them, and the locals were imprisoning people, for example...

Well, that would be useful to know!

Baedal had not been a peaceful world, either. Rife with the beginnings of a civil war, in a police state... too familiar, it had been. Too much like Predain. But at least he'd had the ability to go out and help the wounded, in Baedal, even if it had almost cost his life on more than one occasion.

The more things change, the more they stay the same...

Sanzo had dropped his bratty act the moment things had gotten truly serious. He braced the revolver on his strapped down arm. It would hurt like hell if he fired but this was he could do some semblance of aiming if needed.

He didn’t even protest when he was against the tree, knowing better than to start snapping while the other was so intent on being quiet. Plenty of experience with such tense situations was enough for him to keep his temper in check. They didn’t need a test of how well he could fire in this state.

This world they were on at least didn’t seem to be teeming with hostile magical beings, not that he could feel. There wasn’t much to feel at all, somewhat disconcerting but for a reason Sanzo couldn’t place. Frustrating.

Growing tired of the wait, he forced himself up an inch or so, jaw clenched tight to prevent himself from shouting in the pain from his ribs and sealed but tender wounds. He could see a roughly human shape moving by what might have been a shed not too far from them. They should be plenty out of sight from it, whatever it might be. Hostile youkai looked plenty human from a distance. Closer than that too.

This Sanzo didn't remember him. He didn't remember any instances of working with Drake in dangerous situations like this. But Drake's memory was intact, and he tracked where Sanzo looked. Hm. He adjusted his hold to brace the monk up better in his arms, and shut his eyes for a moment.

His shields lowered, slow and cautious. As much as Empathy could potentially help him locate those near-by, it could also give him away. He wouldn't project, of course, but if there was another Empath involved...

Well, besides Sanzo, of course.

It was frustrating, though -- his Empathy barely reached past whispering range. It didn't even pick up on the shape the pair had both spotted, so feeble was it. That was beyond alarming; Drake's Empathy had always been so strong that it was a detriment to him. Why was it taking a vacation now?

Sanzo wasn’t getting anything from the maybe-a-person in the distance but he was sure getting something from Drake now. He didn’t know if he should be relieved or indulge his increased frustration. Why he could just now feel the healer’s good intentions, protectiveness, with alarm bright and clear, he couldn’t guess, but dammit it was annoying. Not annoying that he had something of a read on the man but plenty irritating that he had less reason to be an ass to him, as much as he wanted to.

The figure at the shed seemed, at least from sight, reasonably normal. Grabbing things that must have been tools. Plenty of traps looked perfectly normal but it could be a harmless villager as well. If he hadn’t fallen so far this wouldn’t be a problem! It would be easy to get himself out of a scuffle with his gun and sutra, if he even needed that!

Sanzo let out a soft, frustrated sigh.

Drake blinked his eyes back open at the sigh, feeling a bit of what was going through Sanzo's head, too. Well, any kestra'chern worth anything knew that dealing with people in absolutes was easiest. And any kestra'chern worth anything knew that no one was absolutely anything.

The read on Amberdrake remained active as he left his shields at their current level. It would help, if in a limited range. If someone snuck up on them from behind or something…

He crept forward again, giving the person at the shed a wide berth. Drake swung around to the side of the house that would put the structure between them. Losing sight of the unknown was unnerving, sure, but he needed to have the chance to get a feel for whoever was in the house, if anyone was. And -- yes, someone was inside. Drake stared at the wall as though he could see through it, though he couldn't. Just trying to get a feel for the situation with his flickering candle of an Empathic Gift. It was normally a bonfire threatening to consume him from the inside, by contrast!

Everything felt... normal, inside. Domestic. Peaceful? It was so hard to pick up on specifics right now. Someone felt busy, but in a clean, getting-things-done way. Chores, perhaps.

Deciding that if things went to shit he'd just turn and run, he eased around to the front of the house. If it came to it, he'd take the brunt of what could come at them to his back to shield Sanzo. Thus, that protectiveness ratcheted up a few notches as he shifted his grip on the priest again. This time, it was so he could rap his knuckles against the door -- under Sanzo's legs -- in a soft knock.

...

Thankfully for the pair of them, it didn't come to running. The native inside provided proper bandages, and directions, and then sent them on their way unharmed.

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it may take two to tango, but boy, it's just one to let go

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