Omi left his apartment with his mind on what Youji had told him about Ken's experience with the sex-swapping card. The conversation with Irial, while not forgotten, was buried under bitterness and protective anger on his best friend's behalf.
Concentrating on those feelings was helpful, as it meant Omi couldn't dwell quite as much on his changed state-- at least until he reached the clothing store. But until then, Omi walked with his head down and his hands in his pockets. The cold temperatures afforded him an excuse for the thick coat, hat and scarf that masked his shape and the bulk of his features.
After a couple of minutes, however, his footsteps slowed, and then halted completely. Something was off. He couldn't pinpoint what it was, but the instincts that had kept him alive as an assassin were buzzing now on the near-empty streets. Omi lifted his eyes and looked around. He saw no danger.
Irial breathed in the scent of a woman in the downward breeze that traveled between them, carrying notes of tender skin, soft hair, and apprehension. The taste of Omi's emotions, however, hadn't changed with the temporary alteration of his body
( ... )
It was a weight in the stomach, this recognition of danger nearby. An acidic prickle that made his insides feel heavy and cold and constricted. The muscles in his legs began to tingle with soreness as though they hadn't been exercised in too long. Omi thought of the darts at his waist which he carried with him at all times. His eyes scanned the area as he began to walk again, alert not just for the hint of the danger, but of his environment. The most likely places for a threat to come from. The best places to hide or to take cover. Potential routes of retreat-- or of luring the threat into a trap. What did he have close at hand for props if the darts failed him?
Never run from the fae. They enjoy it far too much.
And so Irial gave pursuit, silent and invisible as he paced himself, rushing to follow the female close, but not overtaking Omi. He could move in a blur, streak past his charge and run unseen circles around him, but for now, Irial was satisfied just to keep close enough to smell her hair, to hear her labored breathing, to listen to the frenzied pace of her pulse as she tried to flee.
Could she feel him there, a familiar shadow? He was tempted to reach out and touch, but no -- not yet. He was going to savor it this time.
Omi did not feel panic just yet. Adrenaline, yes. Determination, yes. His heartbeat was quick and he was finding once again that running was not as easy as it was while in his usual body. His lungs couldn't seem to take in as much air, which shortened the amount of time before he felt out of breath.
The logical place to run for safety was to a crowd. Omi did not look for the cover of a crowd. It would be wrong to endanger the lives of others when he was the target. Better to face whatever threat pursued him alone. He'd hoped to draw it out of hiding in his sudden dash, but that gambit hadn't worked as he'd hoped.
Before his chest's aching with hunger for oxygen became too extreme, he slowed to a stop and braced a hand against the nearest building. Maybe the threat simply hadn't pursued him. He maintained a guarded watch while he worked to catch his breath regardless. Better to not be caught off-guard. And if a fight was coming, better not to be too tired to defend himself.
Irial slowed as Omi slowed, stopped when she stopped, watching closely as Omi leaned into the building, waiting. He could taste the wariness that remained, longed for the fear that he knew was so poignant when the boy was roused. Would it be the same, now he was a woman? Perhaps even stronger?
Only one way to find out.
An insubstantial pursuer was nothing to one who appeared in the flesh. This was undeniably Irial's favorite part, that moment of recognition, the flash of panic.
Irial lowered his glamor even as he loomed over the slighter form, shadows passing across his eyes from the lingering excitement of the chase. His face was still, impassive, but his eyes - they were hungry.
The emergence of a figure seemingly from thin air, and hovering so close, was never a pleasant experience. For that first moment was the dawning comprehension and dread as his form fell under shadow. The look to identify the source, the spike in tension and grabbing out a dart to hold like a knife because it was the only weapon he had.
"I told you to stay away!" Was that panic ringing in his voice? Most likely.
Concentrating on those feelings was helpful, as it meant Omi couldn't dwell quite as much on his changed state-- at least until he reached the clothing store. But until then, Omi walked with his head down and his hands in his pockets. The cold temperatures afforded him an excuse for the thick coat, hat and scarf that masked his shape and the bulk of his features.
After a couple of minutes, however, his footsteps slowed, and then halted completely. Something was off. He couldn't pinpoint what it was, but the instincts that had kept him alive as an assassin were buzzing now on the near-empty streets. Omi lifted his eyes and looked around. He saw no danger.
The apprehension lingered.
Reply
Reply
Then, after a beat, Omi simply broke into a run.
Reply
Never run from the fae. They enjoy it far too much.
And so Irial gave pursuit, silent and invisible as he paced himself, rushing to follow the female close, but not overtaking Omi. He could move in a blur, streak past his charge and run unseen circles around him, but for now, Irial was satisfied just to keep close enough to smell her hair, to hear her labored breathing, to listen to the frenzied pace of her pulse as she tried to flee.
Could she feel him there, a familiar shadow? He was tempted to reach out and touch, but no -- not yet. He was going to savor it this time.
Reply
The logical place to run for safety was to a crowd. Omi did not look for the cover of a crowd. It would be wrong to endanger the lives of others when he was the target. Better to face whatever threat pursued him alone. He'd hoped to draw it out of hiding in his sudden dash, but that gambit hadn't worked as he'd hoped.
Before his chest's aching with hunger for oxygen became too extreme, he slowed to a stop and braced a hand against the nearest building. Maybe the threat simply hadn't pursued him. He maintained a guarded watch while he worked to catch his breath regardless. Better to not be caught off-guard. And if a fight was coming, better not to be too tired to defend himself.
Reply
Only one way to find out.
An insubstantial pursuer was nothing to one who appeared in the flesh. This was undeniably Irial's favorite part, that moment of recognition, the flash of panic.
Irial lowered his glamor even as he loomed over the slighter form, shadows passing across his eyes from the lingering excitement of the chase. His face was still, impassive, but his eyes - they were hungry.
Reply
"I told you to stay away!" Was that panic ringing in his voice? Most likely.
Reply
Leave a comment