No one mourns the wicked.

[syl-thorn.livejournal.com]

[Early evening, Wednesday, August 13th, day 444]
[The woods outside town]

Woke up'is mornin' when the sky wuz th'deep blue'a th'sea bottom, m'breath stranglin'n m'throat, and a pain'n m'head't threatened t'push m'eyes from'eir sockets. I sat up, chokin' 'n clawin't m'throat, wond'rin' dully if'n m'head wuz gonna burst 'fore I strangled, an'en't wuz done. Th'air'n m'lungs pushed out hard, there wuzza flash 'fore m'eyes, an'en th'pain wuz gone. But not b'fore I heard somethin', a weird screamin' noise somewhere deep'n th'mist. Closest thin' t'it've ever heard s'when I came 'pon a mama vixen'n th'woods, she stood up from'er cubs'n fuckin' screamed at me. This sound wuz like'at...but wit'n edge, like th'bone squeal'a teeth grindin'n pain. Dunno what't wuz, but't made me feel sick'n pale'n sweaty, an' I didn't sleep no more after'at.

Seems mosta th'others'n th'Carnival felt somethin' th'same. Lotta folk woke up'n th'night, 'r member a chokin' spell...nobody else mentioned the scream, though. I don't mention it neither, but think mebbe I oughta go talk t'Nanshe soon's I can. Whatever't wuz, don't think't meant anythin' good.

Fer t'day, though, there's work t'be done. Can't b'lieve th'summer's near t'ended. We's headed fer our second winter innis town, an'I think mosta us're resigned t'it. Somma th'folks'a been lettin'eir wagons go, lettin' th'wheels sink inta th'ground, 'r settin'em on blocks. Some folks've built shacks 're rented places in town. Some've taken jobs, too, part time 'r full. Can't blame'em, really, since'ere ain't allat much money comin' in fer the rides 'r games no more. There's a feelin' on th'Lot now't we might never leave, annit makes m'skin itch.

Me, I still keep m'wagon ready t'move, an'm makin' 'nough cash sellin' potions'n charms, so'm doin' okay. Smokey's gettin' fat, though, 'e's spendin' so much time'n pasture. I ain't never learned t'ride'r nothin', so'ere really ain't nothin' for'im t'do. Guess I could rent'im out t'folks in town, but I dunno. In some ways't makes me feel like'm puttin' down roots m'self, an'at jes' makes me twitch.

At least I still got work t'do. Shoulder m'satchel 'n head out inta th'woods. Rain's gone, but'ere's a cool breeze, so I throw on m'jacket, 'n pull boots on 'gainst th'mud 'n wet grass. Th'woods 'n th'river here've been good t'me, at least in terms've finding materials. Roots 'n herbs, moss 'n bone. Miss somma th'stuff I c'n get 'n th'south (Christ, I miss olive oil), but gotta say, gathered a lotta stuff last winter't I can't normally get, annit came in right handy over th'past few months.

...Lord, guess I better start thinkin' 'bout getting th'heaters set back up inna few weeks. Jesus wept.

[OPEN to Reed and Catherine primarily, but others too]

Comments

[syl-thorn.livejournal.com]

Glass makes some motion, an' suddenly she's gone. Ain't goin' dim; she's jes' gone. But I c'n still hear'er crashin' 'round b'hind me, so I know she's'ere. Hear a pistol-shot, but think't wuz inta th'air. Ain't gonna stay 'round'n find out.

"Don't make me shoot you!"

Oh, yeah, sure, what wuz y'plannin' t'do b'fore? s'what I wanna yell, but ain't gonna waste m'breath onnit. Dammit, dammit, why'd I hafta walk so far? Tryin' t'think how long't'd take us t'run back t'th'Lot. Try t'think if'n we c'n make't wit'out gettin' shot. Try t'judge from th'sounds b'hind us jes' how fast'ey's comin'. Try t'keep runnin'n draw m'knife't th'same time, which's a damned sight harder'n't sounds.

[glass-beddau.livejournal.com]

Several things I could set the edge of my tongue to, over "Don't make me shoot you!" Little enough point to't as I am, mind.

"Come on! We can't let her get back to the Carnival!" And think they're 'tween us and town, too... Sure's hell no bloody time for trying to go back for help. Mind myself they cannot see me and take a glace and again to the ground I'm crossing, find a decent rock and its close cousin. Not as if you'd catch me trying to cut someone when I can keep my distance a little.

[pirate-mystic.livejournal.com]

Ain't stoppin. Stupid girls, stupid. Why'd you run if you'd not guilty? Provin it all, ain't it.

'M in good shape and I know these woods, better than most. Even with my eyes still streamin I can follow her. Blind man could follow her, ain't goin quiet. Wish I knew where the other one is. Don't want her comin out of nowhere.

Goin to have to take this one down, one way or another. Damn it.

[catherineknight.livejournal.com]

Run, then, yes, run. Your master will not save you now. He has no power over Reed and I. We are servants of God, and we will bring you down.

I don't know where the younger girl has gone; she seemed to vanish into the air. She must indeed be an apprentice, but I can't concern myself with her right now. My target is the witch herself, the head of the snake.

I can see her in the rapidly dimming light, and I know that if we do not stop her before full dark comes, we may lose her in the woods. I utter a quick prayer, set my rifle to my shoulder, and fire.

[syl-thorn.livejournal.com]

S'gettin' dark, but I c'n still hear'em gainin'. M'chest's startin' t'hurt...goddamned cigarettes, If'n I'd known I wuz gonna spend th'evenin' runnin' fer m'life, y'c'n bet I woulda cut down.

Still ain't sure where Glass is, but don't sound like they've caught'er, annat's what matters. If'n I c'n jes' keep movin' 'til full dark, mebbe I c'n lose 'em in the...

There's th'crack of a rifle, an'en somethin' slams inta m'shoulder. Don't hurt't first, jes' feels like bein' shoved hard. Stumble over a tree root, slam inta th'trunk, an; m'shirt's goin' heavy'n wet. M'whole arm's throbbin'n burnin' an' m'shoulder's goin' cold, oh CHRIST....

[pirate-mystic.livejournal.com]

Hear Catherine stop, and a glance shows she's aimin. Make sure I'm well clear, an then there's the crack of the rifle, smell of powder an the witch goes down. Hopin' she ain't dead - we ain't murderers. Could come to anythin later, but shootin a woman in the back don't sit right with me.

Catch up to her an get my pistol trained on her again. "Don't you move," I tell her.

[catherineknight.livejournal.com]

Our mission is truly blessed. God guides my hand and my aim, and the witch stumbles and falls. I would rather take her in honorable combat, but I cannot risk her escaping to do yet more harm. And I should know better than to expect honorable combat from a creature like her.

The shot caught her in the left shoulder, and she is thrashing on the grass, trying to get up. Reed reaches her first, "Don't you move."

My pace slows, and I cradle my rifle in the crook of my arm. I wish we knew where her apprentice had gone.

[syl-thorn.livejournal.com]

Jesus Christ. Don't think've ever been shot b'fore. Hurts like a bitch. Arm's hangin' near useless, an' m'shirt's drenched'n blood. Well, bleedin' t'death'd likely be more comfort'ble 'n whatever'ey got planned for me.

've jes' managed t'roll over onta m'back when th'dark one wit' th'wild eyes runs up t'me. "Don't you move," she says, pantin' like a dog. Swear I c'n see foam 'round'er mouth. Th'other one's slowed down, lookin' satisfied, strollin' nice'n easy. Still dunno where Glass is. Hope t'hell she got away.

They think'm down. Well, 'is ol' bitch still has some teeth in'er. An'in some ways'ey did me a favour. M'bloods poolin' on th'grass, soakin' inta th'earth, bein' taken up by root an' stem. Clench m'good hand 'n th'earth. My body nourishes you, drink of my blood, grow strong and lend me your aid.

Done'is charm b'fore, but'at boost Verdi'n tez gave me sure gives a boost. Th'dark woman yells azza tree root rips free'a th'ground'n winds 'round'er ankle. A branch whip's cross'er face, an'a bush stretches out t'embrace'er. Th'other freezes, a split-second'a surprise, but't's enough. Snatch onna th'pouches from m'belt 'n hurl-t inta'er face. It bursts inna cloud'a powder, an'n th'next second a swarm 'a flies 'n wasps pours outta th'trees t'surround'er.

I don't take time t'gloat 'r listen t'th'screams; scramble t'm'feet an' start runnin' again.