Riverside 16: Turn and face the strain

[Murkus]

[The Van]

The witch sleeps. It isn't the first time She's slept in great pain. When She and the world were young, the touch of cold iron would have had her staining the inside of this wretched bag with her blood. Ever a nuisance, especially with so much of it, but no longer was it's mere touch a threat to her life. When the bag comes away, her eyes flutter open.

The face is wrong.

This isn't even the woman that Special Projects captured. Her face is haggard, drawn with deep lines, most especially across her cheeks. Of perhaps middle age, ragged hair spills in lumpy braids from the back of her head, and strange piercings line much of the loose flesh on her body. Bags gather beneath a huge pair of crow's eyes.

The stranger sits up. As Sszinyon and Valkanhayne speak, She gathers her naked legs beneath herself. Now She is cozily cross legged, arms clutched to her body, her arms and legs bound with iron manacles. More a pile of metal than a woman, She's so thin.

Valkanhayne receives a look. It is not an angry look. It is wide, and wet, and one might get the feeling that if you look back for even a second too long you might just fall in. He's bound her up, intends to use her as a weapon against mortal men, and has just embarrassed her in front of strangers. The creepy lady. The lady who wants hearts.

Caesa fumbles her gaze into her lap.

"You should be more careful to whom you tell your name," says Caesa.

Her gaze swims to the very abnormal drow. What a scent. She cannot readily discern what he is, and Caesa can discern most things that way.

"Hello," She says, with a jilted little smile. Twinkling, greedy eyes search the room. Her head goes round the van, giving each person in turn a nod or a little 'hello'.

The knife-eared death dealer.

The speaking cat.

Valkanhayne.

Presumably a few men well beneath Caesa's notice.

Overhead, a flock of crows soars over the van's roof, following it like a huge dark cloud of pestilence. All the way to Riverside.