forum Calling Ella Erransmith!

Started January 07, 2019 by @blue_topaz

tune

Oh my gosh I’m sorry, yes, the first prompt is the one we’re doing. I think your character could find Nathan being whipped…?

Would you like me to start?

Shit sorry I thought I’d responded to your post
Yeah sure to both
Sorry if my writing isn’t up to scratch, I’m not feeling that great

Oh? That’s not good! Is something wrong?

There was nothing.
Then, in a flash, there was everything, all at once, as Nathaniel’s eyes opened wide. He felt too much at once. The ground was rough, and his was skin exposed to icy winds, and part of his skull threatened to burst open, and he couldn’t quite suck in enough air, and sweat fell with blood off of him like the tears off his face, and, and, and-
And there was a whip slicing into him, slapping into his flesh and tearing open wounds on top of wounds. He couldn’t help the noises that wrenched themselves out from between his clenched teeth. They surely didn’t help his appearance. In the eyes of the crowd, he was nothing but an animal, bent over and subjected to a proper punishment. His cries only worsened his fate as their wild creature to tear apart and mock.
Oh, the mockery. The whipping was one thing, and the frozen water they’d pour over him was another, but the laughter was what drove him off the deep end. People were cackling with every single lashing he got, like his pain was both their pleasure and joke.
He needed it to stop. No matter what the cost, he just needed it all to stop.

(Ian this okay?)

(Dw about it, autocorrect is my mortal enemy as well
Not really.. but… oh well)

Dara pushed through the crowd, slipping between the gathering citizens. Bodies pressed close in every direction, wrapping a tight noose of anxiety around her neck, but no one tried to steal from her, nobody’s groping hands slid down her frame. Finally, she emerged at the front, taking a deep breath as she finally raised her head to take a look at what everyone was staring at.

Or, rather, who…

A loud crack split the air; a whip coming down with force on the back of a young man. Dara cried out on instinct, clamping her jaw shut immediately after tocover for her mistake, but the outburst of laughter from her fellow onlookers drowned out her distress, leaving her the only one who seemed to be the least bit concerned. This happens all the time, she told herself harshly, Get used to it and make sure you’re not the one who ends up in that predicament. But something about the man’s eyes— his tortured, helpless eyes— and the broken way he was hunched over, as if he was finished, tugged at her heart.

The man cried out again, a sound of pure pain, and Dara gave an involuntary flinch. She’d felt the bite of a whip once… And just like that, her gut instinct overtook her logic. Shutting her eyes, she reached out with her mind until she had a firm mental grasp on the man with the whip, on his writhing, turbulent emotions, the ones depicted so vividly in her mind’s eye, and twisted. Red turned to a hesitant yellow, anger to remorse, and she swayed under a wave of exhaustion.

(Really? Aw thanks uwu
It’s a long story)

(Yeah! And aw, sorry to hear that. You can always tell me if you want. It might help to talk about it.)

Nathan’s mouth opened as another ten lashes was brought to an end, and he ended up vomiting nothing but water onto the ground. His stomach tossed and turned with pure agony, panic, and dread, a mixture that nearly drove him back on his knees again. He waited for his next round, but nothing happened.
Was it over?
A gloved hand dug roughly into his hair and pulled him back so the crowd could see his face. He whimpered softly as the world spun, causing nausea to rise back within him. Warm, wet blood made his dry lips sticky, and he, trembling, tried to close his eyes. His assaulter stopped him by prying his eyelids open.
“How… how did you do that?” The guard with the weapon actually sounded confused. “Get out of my head, filth-blood! Pulling these sick pranks… I… you’re wrong. It’s sickening, but I… I can’t…”
Nathan wanted to sob in relief when the weapon hit the ground.
“I’m… sorry? Why am I sorry? You’re disgusting! You… you…” he trailed off. “You didn’t deserve to be born, you don’t…”
“Kill him!” someone shouted. His whole body seized in fear when the crowd followed, starting a chant about killing the muddled-blood. He tried to reach out to what little magic he had, but he was already close to passing out as it was.

(Thanks, maybe another time)

The people surged forward, and Dara panicked, her tense body accidentally broadcasting her emotions to the crowd. Fear and doubt seeped into the heads of those nearest to her, and though it hadn’t been planned, it gave her exactly the distraction she needed to dart forward, snatch the young man from the grip of his tormentor, and take off in the other direction with him in tow.

She was much stronger than she looked, her body conditioned by years of taxing work, which she used to her advantage, ducking down side streets with the mob falling behind. “Are you alright?” She called to the young man, pulling him around an abandoned warehouse.

He looked at the girl who’d stolen him away in utter confusion, ignoring the stinging, screaming pain of his raw wounds for just long enough to get a grasp on what was occurring. The stranger had saved him, if only briefly. He wiped his mouth, then shuddered.
“No, ‘m not,” he slurred, spitting blood onto the stone under their feet. He pressed his cheek to its cold surface and tried to catch his breath. His heart was hammering through his lungs.
He wanted nothing more than to sleep. If he could collapse, he would, but the adrenaline was still telling him to go until his legs failed him. Instead, all he did was keep himself upright, shivering, until his gaze briefly focused back on her face.
“You’ve gotta take me back to ‘im.”

“Are you insane? He’ll bloody murder you!” Dara’s eyes darted from building to building, ensuring that they were safely hidden. Giving him a worried once-over, she removed her long wig in one swift movement and cast it to the side— it would only make her more recognizable. “Here, just let me—“ Her chest heaved as she took in large gulps of air, her sudden sprint having taken a lot out of her. “Let me help.”

“They’ll kill you,” he muttered softly, voice muffled by the back of his hand. The blood had dripped into his beard. No matter how much he tried to scrub off, there was always more. He gave it up to give her a tired, gravely serious look. Her hair was shorter than it’d been moments prior, or at least he thought it was; he was having a hard time differentiating between reality and what his swooping, dizzy vision picked up.
“You’re so… tha’ was dumb, savin’ me. I coulda taken it. He was almos’ done. ‘sides, what can y’do now? Iss cold, ‘n I’m… so dizzy, I might…”

“You’re welcome,” she muttered under her breath, pulling a hand through her short, tangled hair. Spinning on her heel, she did another quick sweep to make sure there was no one there, this time reaching out with her mind to detect any brewing emotions. There were none; they were safe. Dara sighed, pulling a clean handkerchief from her pocket and tossing it to the stranger. “The crowd was hungry for blood. You would have gotten out alive.”

Snow had started to fall heavily around them. Nathaniel’s faint heartbeat sped up with hope as white flakes drifted over the red marks he’d left like footsteps. No one would dare try and find them in a blizzard, much less after a scene like that. They’d spend quite some time trying to convince themselves that they’d let him escape in order to reassure the public. No official wanted to spread the word that a crazed, violent filth-blood was running around, twisting people’s minds.
Lucky him.
“Better dead,” he coughed weakly, pressing the handkerchief to his lips, “than livin’ like this. Can’t afford a doc. My sister’s one, but it’d be hard to get there.”

A muscle in Dara’s jaw worked as she turned away, rolling up the sleeves of her chemise. “Good to know that you didn’t appreciate me dragging you away,” she told him over her shoulder, voice dry. “And I could probably afford a doctor for you. Or— how far away is your sister?” Her voice was careful, betraying nothing of the real reason she was helping him after this point. “We’d make it.”
(Sorry Sorry I thought I’d replied)

“Iss not that. ‘m jus’ sayin’ that you put yourself in danger.” His breathing was growing more raspy and slow by the second. He needed to get somewhere safe. “Our house is three minutes walkin’ distance. The time’s not the hard part. Gettin’ there means walkin’, ‘n I really can’t do much more of that. ‘m already close to passin’ out as it is.
It wasn’t a lie. With every passing moment, he could feel himself slipping further and further to sleep. Honestly, he was just tired. Maybe resting wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. He would just take nap in the snow and take the pain away.
“You’ve done enough. I can get outta this. Thank you.”

Dara ignored his final statement, taking hold of his arm and closing her eyes. She inhaled, and felt magic rush through her bloodstream, raw and powerful and unstoppable. Reaching out with her mind, she sifted through the mixed colours of his emotion, past terrified yellows and traumatized burgundies until she had a firm grasp on his exhaustion. Reading emotions was the easy part, but twisting them? That was decidedly more difficult, not to mention taxing, and she'd already done so on a mass level with the crowd they'd left behind a few streets down. Wiping a snowflake or two off the tip of her nose, eyes still firmly shut, Dara drew on her reserve of magic, mouth twisted in concentration as she poured everything she had in altering his exhaustion and painting it a calmer, more energetic shade of chartreuse.

Pulling away, she sagged against the wall, chest heaving from the exertion. "Better now?"

Nathan felt a burst of energy within him. It didn’t take away all of his pain, nor did it solve his injuries, but he felt calm enough that he could walk. He wasn’t tired anymore. With a gracious, relieved sigh, he pushed himself up onto his feet. His head turned to the side to observe the girl and give her a thanks. When he saw her face, he stopped cold.
“You were the one who did it to the guy,” he whispered, shaking his head, “you made him change his mind. I can’t believe it. This is insane. You saved me, and now we’re… never mind. Thank… thank you. Did it wear you out? You can rest if we make it to my house. We don’t have much, but we’ve got enough blankets.”

“I’ll be fine..” Dara mumbled, straightening her back. Her temples throbbed, a sensation she was more than used to, but she definitely wasn’t too tired to walk or run. “At your.. at your house? You’re okay with me staying?” She tilted her head in question, evidently confused. “I assumed.. I assumed you’d want me to leave.”

“Of course. You saved my life. The only problem is… well, my sisters aren’t going to be too happy, and I’m going to need a lot of care. It’ll be a couple of days. You can leave whenever you want, but you may want to stay low. People might be looking for you.”
He thought about touching her arm to comfort her, then decided against it. Feeling regret, he turned to look around. Based on their surroundings, he assumed that it was a near straight line in front of them.
“But if you want to go, we should go now. The snow will only get worse.”

"Staying low is what I do best." Dara gave a grunt, rubbing at one of her aching temples. "Alright, let's get out of here. Lead the way–" She paused, a furrow appearing between her brows. "I don't actually know your name.. I'm Dara, by the way." An Irish accent hinged off of each word, something reminiscent of British mingling with the words as well.

Nathaniel vaguely heard the undertones in her voice. Interested, he tilted his head to the side almost unconsciously, but settled back when she stopped talking. With a cross of his arms and a look towards Dara, he walked a few stumbling steps ahead of her, offered her one of his cracked, crimson-stained hands, a small twitch at the corner of his mouth an indication of his mood. He found it incredible that she could make him smile even when the rawness of his skin stung in the frosty winds. She seemed to be full of surprises.
“Thank you again, Dara,” he said, slurring his words only slightly now because of the saliva and blood in his mouth, “it’s really great to meet you. I’m Nathaniel Clarke, but you can call me Nathan. My sisters will be very grateful that you saved me; we shouldn’t keep them waiting. Come on, let’s hurry.”