Without

[masochisticlam]

She had no use for a great many things. Pretty hair and manicured nails, included. Under her clothes, disfigured primarily, by scars. Her face having managed in her eighteen years of life, to somehow go unmarred. And obscured by the shadow of her hood no one would be the wiser anyways.

She shed her armor; a task she underwent only at the end of everyday and only when she was certain there was no longer any need for it. Though there would always be a need for it, she knew. But then, that was probably just her paranoia talking.

In a final clang as her armor collected in a neat pile on the floor and in a short distance from the bed, she continued to strip herself free of the fabric underneath. Dirtied by sweat and a days worth of grime, it too was made to gather in a single area on the floor. She did not waste time to inspect a fleets' worth of new wounds or the old ones as they settled on her skin in layers. An intricate - however abstract - network of scar tissue as it occupied the vast majority of her body. Instead, submersing herself in the tub while the water remained hot. Aching muscles and torn flesh protesting as a response, and the cinch of her teeth and the clench of her jaw suggesting as much as she continued to lower herself down into it. The water as it rippled and quaked to life with the displacement.

Too quickly it became filthy, darkened by blood and dirt as it clung to her skin. And only when the nerve-endings of open wounds ceased to sting did she attempt to scrub away whatever mud and dust particles fought to stick to her. Once she was sure she'd removed the top most layer of flesh from her skeleton was she crawling out of the tub. Patting her skin free of moisture as much as she could before dressing her wounds and bundling up under the blankets of the thinly padded bed. She had seen better accommodations, but she'd also seen worse.

In the dark of the room, under the cover of night... it did not change, the fact that she had no use for so many things.

[Jai_V]

I hope this letter finds you swiftly, and in good health. It has been months since you last visited, and I am afraid that fortune has not favored me. I need to ask a favor.

You did so much already, and I have no reason to expect any more from you. But I have nowhere else to go, Cazen. When they died, his relatives were quick to produce a Will that conveniently excluded me. I barely have enough for another month's stay at this Inn, and per your advice all those years ago, I have crossed-out prostitution as a viable employment option.

Besides, I doubt anybody would pay any amount worth mentioning to lay with a girl so scarred and unladylike. Please, can you help me? I am willing to work, and earn my keep.

- Miri

She had been in Sundren less than a week, and already I felt pangs of regret. "What was I thinking?" I asked myself, aloud. The letter served as a reminder that no matter how far I think I've gone, someone will always be there to appeal to my better nature.

I had to admit, Miri was a lot tougher than I gave her credit for. I offered her the job as my bodyguard mainly to not feel as though I was being too charitable. But she went out, everyday, and trained. She would stumble back in; battered, bruised, and often bleeding, she would heat the water and climb into the tub. She refused any offers for assistance, even knowing that I looked at her as a child, and not a potential intimate companion.

Maybe I wasn't taking her seriously enough.

I silently hoped that it was not something I came to regret.

[Jai_V]

I returned to my room and found her curled up in my bed. From the way she had fallen asleep, I knew she must have been crying. I could only guess at why; perhaps the performance had seemed too real and genuinely upset her. I purposely didn't mention how Drake would react, as I knew she wouldn't agree if she thought I was in danger. Looking down at her now, she looks so much like a child. An innocent one, at that. But she isn't; I consider myself fortunate that she had the presence of mind to walk away and not draw down on anyone.

"You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into, little girl." I spoke softly.

She didn't even stir. She must have spent the entire day training, again. With a gentle hand and nimble fingers, I re-positioned the blanket to cover her feet. For a moment, I just stare at her and felt a warmth in my heart. I honestly did feel for her as I imagine a parent feels for their child. God's help anyone that ever hurt her. I turned my mind to more amusing thoughts. I suppose it was a good thing I didn't have company in my room tonight; this could have been a bit awkward.

I quietly made my way out of the room, sparing another glance back at the sleeping youth. She began to shift and I closed the door. "Sleep peacefully, Miri." I said as I descended the stairs back to the bar.

[masochisticlam]

It was not so much out've sadness than it was out of frustration that she cried. Tired. Irritated. Anxious. Her fingernails chewed so far down to the quick that they fucking hurt. Of course, the gnarled excuse for her fingertips was nothing. Well, nothing compared to the bruised ribs and bloodied nose and the nick in the cartilage of her ear.

The very breath she drew into her lungs was enough to wrack the raw nerves of her body. Have her wincing against every inhale, her face as it twisted into something pained. The wrinkle in her forehead and the distinct narrowing of her eyes and her mouth as it pursed into a line just below the flow of blood as it drained from both nostrils.

She tried not to make a habit out of visiting Cazen's room without his presence. Tried not to be tempted into leaning on him in any way, because she didn't want that. Not really. Sure, to be comforted. But it was only more trouble in the end. More trouble and certainly more burden for Cazen.

And more guilt for Miri. So she stayed. Curled up under the blanket the inn provided for her bed, having only energy and forethought enough to clean her nose and wipe her face.

What the hell was she doing here, anyway? She'd come here to make a way for herself. Well, that's what she'd told Cazen, initially. Kinda'. But mostly, she didn't wanna' be alone. But she was still alone, grateful as she was to the man. Under the cover of the blanket, she pressed her palms to her eyes. Repressing tears to the best of her ability, though they squeezed out and wet her skin in spite of her efforts.

Cazen had a life. Something he'd made for himself. And it still felt like she was alone, even knowing Cazen was there for her. Fatigue set in; whatever strength she had left sapped from her through her weeping. She passed out. At what point, though, she simply couldn't say.