Welcome to Gaia! ::

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xxxxxxxxxxxTHE PARADE
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xxxxxxxx »[ORP] - In a ******** of events, somehow the parade still finished!
xxxxxxxx »[FEAT] - Preacher, Saga, one big fight, a canal-dunking, and lots of stupid horses
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xxxxxxxxxxxTHE BONFIRE
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xxxxxxxx »[ORP] - Bald men hold everyone captive for storytime, & Axel tries his snuggling moves
xxxxxxxx »[FEAT] - Preacher, Henrik the hair-petter, Alec the hair-petted, and a disgustingly drunk Axel
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xxxxxxxxxxx100 YEARS OF PEACE
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xxxxxxxx »[SOLO] - reserved
text goes here
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xxxxxxxxxxxTINKER, PREACHER, SOLDIER, DOLLFACE
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xxxxxxxx »[SOLO] - you can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave

When, finally, wearily, she arrived back at Tinker's lean-to, he was waiting for her. His lined face clouded like an approaching storm and he clutched crumpled papers in one scarred hand. That ugly mouth twisted tightly at the sight of Preacher and her mind began to race, panic flashing in her cat-like eyes. Did he know about what happened in that seedy tavern? There was no way he had eyes everywhere, that his beady gaze could've seen exactly how Axel's broad hands had gripped her thighs and pulled her hair and everything that was never supposed to happen. Preacher shivered; suddenly the memories of Axel's fingers, of his searing kiss, were hot, heavy brands. She was distracted, not herself. And that was perhaps why Tinker succeeded. Just then, the man made a cutting motion with one hand and Preacher whirled. A dark figure stood over her and raised one ominous arm. Samuel? There was a shining moment of light, an explosion of pain, then darkness.

Preacher awoke blearily, blinking against the faint light of early morning. Her shoulders ached from lying crooked on the unforgiving wooden floor and she could feel something tickle stickily from one temple. Groaning, she tired to raise one hand to press at the wound, but found they and her ankles were tied by coarse fabric. She tensed warily, searching the corners of the room for Tinker. Blinking rapidly, Preacher recognized the room now - Tinker's living quarters in the lean-to. It was the one place here with real furniture: a bed, desk, even a cheap boiler steamed in one corner for warmth. All of the brats in the gang shared another room, squabbling over prime floor space away from drafts and leaks. This room was for Tinker and... Tinker's punishments. Preacher's yellow eyes widened in alarm. She had known this was coming from the moment she saw him. She just hadn't expected to be tied up. Tinker's punishments were usually swift and brutal, but every kid knew not to fight back. So why was she tied? She cursed her inattention. If she hadn't gone out, drunk too much, kis- Her mind stubbornly refused to finish that thought. It would be so so easy to blame everything on Axel (and he had been so stupidly warm), but, in the end, there was only Preacher to blame. Idiotic guttersnipe whore of a brat Preacher.

"Awake-a now, ya ********' shitheaded brat?" Ah. There he was; Tinker sat in the one chair in the whole place, a leaning construction made of old wagon boards. He rose quickly and walked over to Preacher, his feet an uneven tattoo. Years ago, Tinker had run afoul of another gang and they had broken his leg in three places. He'd never walked exactly straight since, although it hadn't hampered his movement. Tinker paused above Preacher, and she could hear his panting breaths. Oh, but he was mad. Suddenly, his good leg reared back and he slammed one foot into her unprotected stomach. With a yelp of pain, she curled into herself, trying desperately to shield her abdomen. Tinker dropped down on his knees next to her and clawed at her hair. Grabbing a fistful of it, he yanked her upright painfully, twisting that blue length around his hand. Preacher's eyes began to water. This was nothing like how Axel had pulled her hair back. "Tinker, what'd I do? I'ma sorry iffin I didn't get enough marks or sum-" His fist cut off her words, thudding into the side of her face hard enough that she saw stars and tasted blood. Using her hair, he lifted her face and slammed it back down into the floor once, twice. It was then that Preacher began to struggle.

Even though Tinker wasn't necessarily a good person, his hits had meant to teach, generally: don't disobey, don't slack off, don't question. He avoided beating them senseless, harming them permanently, breaking their faces under his heel. This... something was different this time. When he next rose up to kick her, Preacher jack-knifed her body and managed to roll out of the path of his leg. For the next three kicks, she wasn't so lucky and she retched, throwing up what little was still in her stomach. One of her eyes was rapidly swelling shut and she shrieked when Tinker's fingers grabbed her face and dug into the already purpling bruises. She twisted, trying to free herself from his grasp. Tinker cursed and pressed the pad of his thumb onto her closed eye.

"Stop strugglin', or I'lla take yer eye." His voice was a dangerous whisper, his breath fetid; the remains of countless meals clung to his teeth and coated his vicious tongue. Preacher stilled, staring up at him with one narrowed eye. When he spoke again, spittle flew into her face and she flinched. "Ya think ya tryna leave ol' Tinker 'n his gang, eh? Nobody leave this gang unless I say so, ya ken?" Preacher's eye widened as he shook papers in her face. It was that stupid letter that Preacher had lifted off the sparkly field marshal. Inside the letter, Saga had written about how Preacher had a bright future ahead of her and would be a credit to the organization, among other glowing words. It was her weakness that made Preacher keep something worthless, untradeable for food or coin. But sometimes, it was nice to read something, to read words that said she had a future beyond a dirty little life in a dirty little slum. Preacher had never intended to go to the military; they wouldn't take gutter trash. This was her life, for however long she managed to scrape by. Still, that letter, written in lightly flowing script, had made me smile a bit and feel impossibly guilty that she had pick pocketed it off of Saga. Usually, she hid the letter in her shirt, the paper occasionally slicing small cuts along her ribs. Last night, she had left it by mistake underneath a dirty blanket, an oversight she was paying for now in blood.

"Tinker, I never woulda planned to leave! I kin that tha military ain't take slum kids, I ain't dumber than I look!" She paused and blood dribbled out of her mouth, a combination of split lip and clipped tongue. Preacher couldn't believe Tinker and his ridiculous fear of losing gang members. Weakly, she tried to pull her wrists from the rope, but his hand tightened on her face. Abruptly, Tinker sighed and let go; she dropped like a stone then struggled to sit up just in time for Tinker's fist to meet her face again. Well, she thought dazedly, Axel definitely had a reason to toss her away now if being utter trash wasn't enough. Her face was swelling, bleeding, turning into an odd rictus of bruise and grimace. "I dunno kid, ya look pretty dumb ta me. No one's allowed ta leave, 'less I say so. No one." Then he was on her again; Tinker dragged her up by her hair and threw her against the wall. With hands and feet bound, Preacher couldn't even stand, much less defend herself. A searing pain went through her shoulder and she screamed as it dislocated.

She lay there, crumpled against the wall, and tried to breathe through the blood and the pain. Something clinked in the room; Tinker was moving bottles. A fuzzy kind of confusion muddled around her brain. Was he going to kill her? Murder her over a letter? And then he was standing over her, something glinting in his claw-like hands. "Well, Preacha, I figga iffin ya wanna leave, it'll be by my terms, not yers. 'N I kin make a pretty profit off ya by, well... you know what I'm sayin'." When he laughed, it made her head hurt and what she could see of the room swirl. A burgeoning sense of horror briefly cleared her mind. He meant to sell her into some wall-forgotten brothel! Preacher still remembered the last boy Tinker had sold. It was years ago, but she never could forget finding Kaile the next day, alleys over from that 'brothel'. She didn't think they had bothered to try and get the blood off of the stones. "Tinker!" she screamed, trying to twist wildly away from him. If she had been unbound, or at least feet free.... "We had a deal! Ya can't do this!" The glint in his hands must be the bottle of opiates he had used on Kaile. She had to get away, or Preacher would up up drugged, sold, and dead... or worse.

thunk.

Tinker crumpled and Dollface hit him again, swinging a cast iron pan as though it were some sort of hammer of justice. The slim boy looked horrified and ready to throw up, but his face held a determination Preacher had never seen before. Dollface had never been able to stomach blood. He hurled the pan to the wall, where it clanged hollowly. "D-dollface?" Preacher strained to see the boy, and spat blood on the floor. "W-what're you-" A groan emerged from the crumpled pile that was Tinker. "Shut yer face, Preacher! I ain't wanna see ya dead, is what's what." The boy's voice trembled as he looked at Tinker, but he still scurried over to her and, producing a knife from somewhere inside his clothing, sawed the cloth from both her hands and feet. "Ya gotta go, Preacher. I heard what he was a talkin' bout n' I can't letcha go into whorin'. Ya wouldn't last a week." Dollface muttered a curse and hauled Preacher to her feet, carefully avoiding her limp arm. She stumbled and almost took the both of them down again, but eventually her feet remembered how to work. The pins and needles of that pain were nothing but a drop in the bucket of Preacher's bruises and cuts. Grabbing her hand, Dollface half-led, half-dragged the battered girl to the door and threw it open, roughly shoving her through.

"Go, Preacher! Ya can't stay! Hit up ya pastor buddy or summat, but please, go!" Even through the painful haze clouding her vision, she could see Dollface's nervous sweat, his darting eyes. The boy had been the closest thing to a friend Preacher had in the lawless place; he was risking so much for her now. Reaching out, she dropped a heavy hand on his head. "Come with me, Dollface. Ya can't survive Tinker." But he swiped her hand off, cursing enough to make a sailor blush. In the other room, they could hear Tinker moving slowly. The other gang brats, the littles, hunkered fearfully under threadbare blankets, desperate to escape notice. "I kin take care of m'self. But, by tha walls, iffin ya don't leave now-" There was an unintelligible yell from the other room. Tinker was up. Dollface closed his eyes, took two deep breaths and, with one last whispered 'go', slammed the door in Preacher's face.

Preacher turned and ran. She did not look back.

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xxxxxxxxxxxTAKE A THIEF
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xxxxxxxx »[PRP] - how would the military ever take a thief?
xxxxxxxx »[FEAT] - the brilliantly gleaming Saga and a distinctly less than shiny Preacher
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xxxxxxxxxxxMAYBE SHE'S BORN WITH IT
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xxxxxxxx »[PRP] - Axel is ignoring her in the silliest way
xxxxxxxx »[FEAT] - Preacher, Tala, Axel, and some innocent horses
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xxxxxxxxxxxREADING RAMBO
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xxxxxxxx »[PRP] - Preacher is paired with a much tinier opponent for sparring
xxxxxxxx »[FEAT] - the tiny Lenore, Preacher, and a dusty ground
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xxxxxxxxxxxREQUESTS FROM A FRIEND
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xxxxxxxx »[PRP] - a few people receive letters from Henrik at breakfast
xxxxxxxx »[FEAT] - Alec, who can neither read nor write and Preacher, whose handwriting is atrocious
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