( This is a continuation of the Giants at the Feet of Children
SL logged under Dragon Tails. Lemme' say thanks to the Mods of SC, especially Mizz Minoko, fer' lettin' me post here 'n junk. ENJOY O___O )
Nazareth glides her scarf along the curvature of her blade again. She looks into her reflection and smiles. ?Now we just need to get in.
? Her eyes rise, lock onto Val?s and her smile spreads and infects her chin and cheeks. ?With your talents
,? she begins sweetly, ?I don?t see it as a challenge
Val?s eyes roll away. He is stoic, is calm, is uncomfortable. He eyes the tall, thick wall. ?Just tell me what to do
?Tell you what to do?
? Nazareth hoists an eyebrow and sheaths her blade. She lifts a bare foot and softly rests it on the young, dead boy?s armored torso and leans onto her knee. ?I just told you what to do. I told you to use your talents to get us through the village wall.
?What does that mean!
Nazareth leaps over the body and reaches for Val?s collar. Attached, she stares up at the boy with large and marvelous copper eyes. ?Quiet, damn you,
? she whispers loudly. Nazareth looks over her shoulder and up the wall. ?There?s still men in the watchtower. C?mon, your little sandstorm has passed, let?s get to the wall so they can?t see.
? Nazareth winks at Val, the cheek below her winking eye sharply pitched as a sidelong smirk drove into it. ?And grab this guy and pull him towards the wall. The men in the tower won?t be able to see if we drag them towards it.
Val did not express much. His eyes were narrow, his limbs were still. Nazareth jogs over to the older man with the hole in his throat. The man?s neck was black and glistening, the sand below was black and matte and chunky. Val eyes her a moment, then looks down to the boy. His lips move and something small and quiet leaves them. Nazareth sees. Val steps over the corpse, leans over and begins dragging him towards the wall by his ankles. His armor carves into the sand, the trail black and matte and smooth. Val grunts, tugs, grunts, stops and wipes his forehead.
Nazareth lifts the old man up easily, lifts him right off the ground by his iron collar. Her strength anomalous, unnatural. She whips her arm around the shoulder and throws the heavy, armored man right at the wall where he collides with a hollow, metal echo. Val snaps to the sound, then squints at Nazareth. She quietly says, ?Hurry,
? and nods. Val trugs backwards, hands around the boy?s ankles, makes it to the wall, sighs and releases. The dead boy?s ankles dig into the sand. Val leans his thin little red blade eyes in over the boy, smoothing his sight over the crooked knicks of his armor, down in to play in the dark hollows where Nazareth?s blade had run through. Nazareth pinches Val?s belly.
?What is your problem,
? she says. ?Surely this innocence is for show.
? She looks up Val and fetters her eyes with his. Val fetters back blankly with an obvious obtuseness to him.
Nazareth sighs and pushes him away with her knuckles. She shakes her head and whippets of watery platinum spray around charmingly. Nazareth says, ?You?re impossible,
? through a frown and moves ahead with her back to Val. Sliding her palm along the shantilly constructed village wall, Nazareth orbits until the barrier door is found. The door is impossibly large and is nuzzled by the aforementioned watch posts that pecker up shabbily on the left and right. Nazareth smiles and presses into the cold and massive door. Naturally, it does not rattle, budge or sound.
? Nazareth says. She turns her happy reds over to Val. ?Right here. Give us an opening. Be subtle.
Downcast, Val approaches on deaf, embarrassed feet. His hand joins Nazareth?s on the tall door of wood. Val closes his eyes and Nazareth steps away to admire him. His fingers meld with the wood and the wood begins to run away like sand, fragmented chips running, drooling away like grains, spooling to the sand like sand as sand. He creates an entrance as ordered, six-by-three, larger than ordered, but soft and soundless. Eating, running, drooling sand falls away, six-by-three, draining and pooling and Nazareth admires; unplumbed, scratching her brother?s face with her sharp, scalpel like gaze. Val opens his eyes when he feels nothing against his hand. He had carved straight through the wooden door, had made a six-by-three archway by turning the wood into sand. Nazareth slides her index finger across Val?s lower back mysteriously.
? she says on a warm smile. ?A special boy indeed.
Val reacts by tangling his eyes up with Nazareth?s face anxiously. The boy?s jaw falls down a moment. He corrects, clears with a cough and steps away from the entrance he had created. He says, ?What now?
? And Nazareth was on a knee, untying her red scarf.
? she says, intonation occupied and hands-off while untying the scarf. Nazareth flicks back her head and all her hair goes scudding back luxuriously and she builds space for it by pulling the back of her collar open and pushes all her hair into her shirt. Next she twists the scarf around her head and it crowns her like a flat and amateur turban. The scarftails whip around and cut down her shoulders and the wiry little refuse threads on the ends finger and jolt out like cotton-electric frizz. She smiles up to Val and poses cutely.
?You look ridiculous.
? ?But I don?t look Dominion---do I?
Val nods knowingly, but smiles. ?I see. The hair.
? again he nods. ?Too bad the color of that scarf makes your eyes jump out.
Nazareth tears a two feet of steel out of her sheath rabidly and admires her eyes with a crooked, indecisive mouth.
Val says, ?It?s fine,
? with a mellow and understanding smile and Nazareth beams and hops towards the six-by-three. She sticks her red-toweled head through the cutting and squints into the town.
She whispers, ?Clear,
? over her shoulder. ?Could not have been more opportune. The Brides are renewing their vows to the dust.
? Her laughter comes with genuine hissing and the egoist cobramouth steps completely into the hole in the wall. Val crouched and watched her path through the burrow. She exits the burrow and immediately turns right and escapes Val?s view. So, Val rushes through the six-by-three, his limby body tucked in on itself to negotiate the three, but the six was affordable. Val takes a long arcing step out of the burrow and sinks his belted sandal into the town sand. Large eyes reflectively scan the villagemouth, split between awe and fear and fear the favorable lean. The square was smaller and he squints. From atop the cliff and looking down, it appeared a grand strip of barterers and tented kiosks and criers and the carelessness and deafness of spending. But on its toes, the square was but three tents and crumby, boarded stands that were naked in the evening. Val cringes at pain on his ankle. Because Nazareth had kicked it.
? she whispered angrily. ?get out of yourself, please. For once in your life: don?t be Valcroix. Be something of use to me. So hurry yourself, and you may get your wish of haste and perhaps no combat.
These words appear to wind the boy pervasively and his little red scythe eyes bolden in mighty and shocked gleefulness. ?Okay,
? he whispers orderly, on board with Nazareth?s attrition because she had defanged it favorably for him. And because of her clever translation Val?s eyes coruscate brilliantly and slyly, sleuthing through corridors and up eaten banisters of wood as he stays low on Nazareth?s heels as she creeps through the town?s outskirts, keeping low and against the tall interior wall, navigating the nucleus like a repulsed proton with her gelding in toe.