In which Alba returns!

She came in the night, with a skull tucked under one arm.

It was late by the time the ceremony was finished, and Sarathrazz returned to her. And almost *immediately* Alba took her tiny friend out into the wilderness to find the largest, fanged-est creature she could find, and just kill the hell out of it.

Her complicated feelings now settled by wild and furious murder, she returned to the Soldier's Defense where she has, by all account, not yet slept. But the light has been burning all night, and the door firmly closed.

Having heard through those who know him and whom also know of his growing relationship with the strange witch that now lives temporarily in the Soldier's Defense that the woman has returned; Zeke heads down into the bowls of the hospital. Nervously he stands before the closed door, it seems... very firmly shut. It has an air of 'do not disturb' which unsettles him though there's no actual sign stating it. Then gently he raises his right claw and almost daintily knocks on it politely. "Alba?"

Kisaiya bumps the door open while carrying a box of food, with other boxes behind her as she works in through a back entrance. "Where is Alba?!" She says this loud enough to be heard (and perhaps a bit louder than necessary) she looks none-too-happy, with included puffy-cheek action and a squint of the eyes that says she might explode if someone tries to give her the run-around.

Even as Kisaiya is moving off to the side of the doorway, person-after-person is coming in with boxes of fresh fruit, vegetables, and (of course) lots of linen.

"Enter," comes Alba's voice from the other side of the door. When Zeke opens it, Alba is... sitting in a chair. This is the first sign that something might not be right with the Witch.

There's a pretty large and be-fanged skull in her lap, it's off-white bone polished to a glowing shine, but that's something closer to normal. Currently Alba has a small crucible bubbling merrily away, filled with what looks like molten gold, and a box about the size of the Sith's hand filled with wet sand. Looking up from her work, she nods slowly. "Friend Zeke. Welcome."

The second sign that things might not be right? Her lips are free of Plague stain.

Politely Zeke opens the door of course, and then notes the... bandwagon coming down the hall. His green eyes widen and he scurries into Alba's room as quickly as he can manage, and... closes the door behind him. Then without explanation he finds a corner of the room to stand in and looks at the witch with a panicked expression on his face. "People!" He says it louder than normal, and looks around the room as if searching for a place to hide.

"/ALBA/." Kisa says says it flat and well enunciated with a thin-pull of her lips and, after she sets the crate down, a crossing of her arms. She starts tapping her foot as the crates are swiftly offloaded and carried to the proper place in the hospital. She drums her fingers on their arm and then - someone points with a rather shaky finger off toward the witch corner.

Kisa huffs and throws up her arms, "She is not a witch! She is a wonderful person and has the best friends! And I heard she lost one."

"What is the commotion, ssers?" One should never be seen sleepy-eyed. One might, however, be seen freshly emerging from a side door, one's clothes present and ready-serviced. One such is Chay, who presents himself as wide-eyed and awake (he is not) at such a door. He wears his green duster, and wraps about his hands, and legs. There's earth about his feet--a dusting of brown over the rust of his scales.

The shaking finger seems to be pointed at one of the morgue doors. It doesn't have Alba's name on it, but, there *is* still the faint smell of Mad Alchemy drifting out from underneath.

In the room, Alba sighs at the loud talking. "It is Friend Kisaiya. One may only hope she has not brought another wounded monster to be cared for. It is doubtful, but..." Shrugging, she sets the skull aside and picks up a long, curved fang and knife, and begins to carve away at it. "She is kind, but it is a loud kindness. Attempt not to fear."

Zeke peers from his corner, and once he's certain that the entourage is not coming /into/ the room he relaxes somewhat. He still gives Kisaiya a sideways glance for being the source of all this commotion, but relaxing allows him to let the concern slip from his mind. "Peassce on your nesssst. Thisss one had heard that you were misssing Alba. Thisss one iss glad that you are returned."

"She's my maid of honor!" The merchant announces louder than before, clearly she finds this to be a descriptor to show that no other title should matter. A thin-lipped expression.

Kisaiya huffs. HUFFS! And then pushes passed the person, leaving him with the crate she brought in to deal with, and tromps off toward Alba's room. The sound of stomping of those boots on the floor, Kisa on a rampage!

Where she grabs the door handle and, carefully, opens it. She peaks her head slowly inside and says in a very gentle tone, "Alba...? My friend?"

"...sser? Ser!" Chay ...walks quickly over that way. Ones does not...run. One does not give away. A brisk pace though, might be mistaken for wishing to meet someone for breakfast.

Yes.

That is totally what this is.

He hurries over, and ...presses his hands together. Drops them. "Peasse to your nests, as Zeke says, sser. Alba, one heard you had been taken. We...we tried, sser. We--the scrying failed. One heard vampires and sparkling lights--" Practically babbling. He doesn't /see/ Kisaiya there yet. No, wait, part of him does--that olfactory sense of danger, beeping slowly in the background. It urges him to move his body slightly to the right. It makes the space near his shoulder blade tingle, as though an arrow were being aimed there.

"And now all are assembled," Alba says with a sigh. She certainly seems a lot more... muted... than when last she haunted this room. "Time it will save, at least. Come, Sarathrazz. There are only friends, here."

Hesitantly, as though the safety of the Witch's hair isn't enough anymore, a tiny red shout peeks into view. The air is tasted, once, twice, and then does the little viper finally emerge into the light. "He fears, now. Knows he, as he did not before, that his size is not shield enough anymore."

As for herself... Alba seems to have gained a new tattoo. But not anything like the style of her others; this one is stamped on her chin in ink and scars, a six-pointed snowflake that slashes across her lips. "And know I, now, that things there are for I to fear, as I knew not before."

"What?" Zeke looks toward the door as Kisaiya pokes her head in and his question trails off without being asked. Then again he gathers himself, straightens, turns his eyes from this stranger and toward Alba. In such a short time he has come to like her, though they do not know one another well. Seeing her so muted is... unsettling to say the least. His eyes flicker toward her crucible and her wet sand-filled box then back to her once more. "Will you tell ussss what happened?"

Kisaiya slips into the room next and spots-

GASP!

CHAY TOO?! She flings her arms up into the air and waggles them back and forth as if she's trying to grab at the ceiling. "Cha-a-a-a-ay!" If you can imagine saying this as exuberantly as possible, in what would probably be the loudest way imaginable, but instead uttered as a whisper - then you're on the right track.

And then Kisa is trying to move closer toward Chay to give him hugs of friendship! Her arms out wide and making grabby hand motions. She even has him cornered in a room right now! This might work!

"Why-y-y Alba? What did you do this time? I just now heard you were in the hospital And- and why little danger noodle all scared?" She takes only glances as Alba, her eyes fixed on the target of the grabby hands for right now.

"--Ssers," The pupils dilate, in sudden effort to take in all light.

One might think him drunk.

The olfactory senses, however, tingle, urging him to take a further step back. The pupils dilate because, you know--if they take in ALL light, they might uncover the minuscule shadows that certain dangers may lurk in. Such as Kisaiya. Or. Alba's hair, now that one thinks about it.

And that is how Chay ends up near the other side of Alba, as perhaps even wounded, the safest spot in the room. And that is how he ended up with a tray held in front of him, as a shield. If he gets charged, the shield goes first.

"Friend Kisaiya," Alba says, her voice forceful. "Glad I am to see you as well, but I will not have fear in my workroom. Act as if we spoke among the animals at the ranch. Softly, kindly." Scrrrrrape... Scrrrrrrape.... goes the knife over the fang, shaving away hollow divots to create a crooked, twisted spike, which is then pressed into the sandbox.

"I will tell my story, but I will tell it in quiet, for much and more is silk threads in strong wind." A second frame is fitted over the top of the box, and more wet sand is heaped into the wooden frame as the crucible grows hot enough to glow orange-white.

There's a stranger headed toward Chay. Incidentally toward him as well, but Zeke forgets this fact. Forgets for an instant his fear in the face of the instinct to protect. To protect Chay from something that they both fear. He's standing slightly behind and to the side of Chay so it's easy. Easy to give into instinct. Easy to lunge forward like a snake, a low growl of danger in his throat and a hiss spilling out his lips. Jaws snap open and shut with a harsh click. This one is protected! - Says his posture.

The witch's hair. Kisaiya. Two dangers, very real dangers in the room. Mayhap the hair has a mind of its own--mayhap it exists, as a separate entity from the witch. Mayhap it does. He doesn't know. Chay grips the tray, and then--well, there's suddenly Zeke nearby.

Could have pushed him over with a feather. Isn't that how the saying goes?

The hunter stands there riveted to the spot. Could push him over with a feather.

"Why is there a tattoo over your mouth, Alba?" he asks, because focusing on a tattoo around a mouth with fangs is so much safer than the room's other actors, right now.

Zeke glares at Kisaiya, stares her down with green eyes that care little for the fact that she is not after /him/. She is after /Chay/. And this is not acceptable. He knows that what he did is wrong. That Chay is frozen beside him. He takes a small step to the side, but not /away/. No this one is still protected. Zeke's muscles are still tense with the willingness to fight. The conversation is important, but it can hardly matter to him while this... stranger threatens his kin. "Sssstay away."

Suddenly being trapped in an unknown place for an unknown time with no ability to have free will with a vampire who is subservient to something that sees fit to murder your familiar... sounds like a welcome change. But just for a moment.

Pinching the bridge of her nose as the commotion continues and the fear ratchets up, Alba looses a long, slow breath. "Friend Kisaiya. Silence, or I *will not* tell to you my story. Sit. Calm. Speak not until I am finished. This I ask, as friend. *Please.*"

....Now *there* is a word that nobody could have suspected Alba even *knew.*

A /Fro-o-o-own/ from Kisa as, not only does the nose boop miss, but now Alba is blaming it on her? She's not the one being all hissier than hissy! She sticks her tongue out at Zeke, crosses her arms and then sits down next to Alba. She - of course - crosses one leg over the other with a huff and pointedly looks away from Zeke and toward Alba instead. Her foot that's not touching the ground bobbing above it.

The hunter could be pushed over with a feather. So he changes his stance, shifts his weight so that might not happen.

"This cannot keep happening," Chay says quietly, almost to himself. The sith-makar risks rubbing at his muzzle. He digs in, kneading in to loosen the tight muscles, there. The other hand holds the tray, loosely at his side.

"We--sshall sshare words later, Kisaiya," he says, jaw popping. He pauses, and gives it another, cautious rub before continuing. "If--if ssuch a thing pleases you. Right now, this one...it has been requested one listen, insstead of, insstead of... One will attempt thiss, ssers. One will attempt to listen and--one is curious about the tattoo. ...please."

Zeke hadn't even realized, had simply pulled back from the nose-boop so that it came so close... But it didn't. He's frozen for a moment in relief and fear of what he's done. He steps back. Steps further away from Chay so that they can both be more comfortable. But he remains as close as he can without his scales tingling as though they might walk away. His green eyes stay on Kisaiya whom is the source of this discomfort that lingers. Particularly in retrospect. She tried to...

Zeke shudders suddenly from muzzle-tip to the end of his tail. Then realizing suddenly how rude he's been to his host he bobs a bow to Alba. "Thisss one isss ssorry. Thisss one can not apologizsse enough. Pleassse. If you will; tell usss your sstory."

A small lock of hair winds up, stabbing down into the wet sand to create a small hole. "Since Friend Kisaiya knew not... The Plague that had struck so many had struck me, as well. Sat in my lungs like a demon, growing and spreading. Thus, determined was I to hunt, to murder, this thing that had begun this contest of wills. Moved I here, that I would not spread this plague to my workers, my animals, and began to work."

With a pair of tongs, she jostles the crucible from its place, carefully picking up the white-hot stone. "Progress was made... but halted. I could not find a cure for certain without finding the source of the plague, there to gain a fresh sample. So... I and others, this is what we did. The river, we follow until it branched, and a simple test brought the living plague from hiding. So, so, so... once quiet it grew, this feeding stream we follow to a lake... And the vampire." Here, her hands shake, just a little bit, as she pours the molten gold oh so carefully into the thin hole. Not a great shake, but enough to splash some of the valuable metal onto the sand, where it hisses and smokes.

"The plague's keeper, he was. But not for himself. A mistress he spoke of, one that would be displeased if her plague was destroyed. Fought him, we... to no avail. He fended us off easily... And there he spoke of his ardor for me. All my hatred only stoked its flame ever higher."

Kisa waits for Alba to put the crucible down before she goes to poke her friend in the side. That jabby sort of poke to areas often ticklish in folk, her look is one of puffy cheeks! She was abiding by Alba's wishes to not talk yet, but she clearly seems to disapprove of her friend not telling her she was sick and in the hospital.

PUFFY CHEEK, ALBA! PUFFY! And even the squinty eyes.

"...what is the tattoo, sser?" asks the former slave. Chay lowers his muzzle to the floor somewhat, after her words. His shoulders are somewhat relaxed, and still. His back straight--he stands there, just. Partway gazing at the floor.

"And--one takes it, he influenced the cult, sser?"

Zeke does not wish to interrupt the retelling, but when she pauses he feels his questions rise up with the pause. Kisaiya earns herself another sharp look for poking Alba. He does not know how Alba feels about such things, but so soon after Chay... Zeke stands perfectly still. Listens as Chay speaks up and then nods to Alba. "Yessss. And... if you will - how you esscaped. Ssuch a thing mussst have been a feat. Or sso thiss one imaginess."

Alba has shut herself in her room all night.

Alba now has company.

As she sets the crucible down and is poked, a lock of the witch's hair wraps around Kisaiya's wrist, and simply holds the offending hand up in the air. Finger still extended. As the carved fang dissolves from the sheer heat surrounding it and the gold has room to settle, Alba slowly picks up the crucible again, pouring a thin stream of gold into the sand. "Please, Friend Chay, Friend Zeke. I must speak of what I know as I came to know it. It is..... difficult. Otherwise."

Drawing in a long, slow breath, she continues her tale. "So, so so. A vampire sought to make me his. Foolishness, I thought, and foolishness that would be turned aside with swiftness. Wrong, was I. In the Gardens I was, attempting to cool my growing frustration. And there, again, was he. Again he sought to take my wits, and take me to his home. This time... I did not succeed." She has more control over her hands, now, but the fine stream of molten metal wavers visibly as she continues her story.

"What follows... I know not. I know not how long I was gone. My will, my ability to act, crushed utterly. Few things I remember, small scraps and motes of memory over a time that felt long and long and yet more still. Remember Sarathrazz' voice. Remember it stopped, and upon my face the mark was placed. By the vampire, by his mistress, by a slave to their will, I know not. Only pain, and silence. Remember a rescuer, white of hair and blue of eyes. Remember little else, until found was I in the markets, and taken to the Temple of Vardama."

The crucible is set aside, and the snake coils up her hair to meet her cheek as Alba closes her eyes and leans her head. "Coin was needed for the spell... but it was successful. Not too long, had Sarathrazz been dead. And now he lives, and whole are we."

Opening her eyes, she turns away from her work for the first time since any of them had entered her room. "This is why we fear. Because in a place I know not, dwells a creature who I may barely fight against, and often fail. And he, in turn, bends knee and head to a mistress I have no knowing of, who knows the darkest secret of my magic; that without Sarathrazz, I am powerless. Who saw fit to keep her pet vampire from turning me. Who cleansed me of the plague. Who marked my lips. For reasons I know not. And there is no time, no place, where I may fight them and win."

An odd silence comes from without, the sense of something or someone nearby, waiting. A small shock of red hair precedes the wide eyes of a certain Goblin, eyes that fall upon the others in the room, flicking from form to form until they spy Alba. Acedia then advances slowly, eyes downcast, until she is roughly in the middle of the room as best she can manage. "I will help you fight them.", she says quietly. "I uh..." The Gobbo rubs at one of her ears. "Kinda heard all that."

Chay's look flicks over to the hair, the hands. To Alba. "...no touching," he rasps, when all is finished. He raises his hands in front of him, the gesture as soft as a Charneth servant's. "...ssome of us do not like...to be touched, but we sshould not touch in turn, ssers."

His breath moves quickly, to have spoken up. He lowers his hands then. Slowly.

"One--understands, ssers. One understands the rest, ssers. We..."

"...when the Charneth took my kin, they ssought to divide us. We cannot let that happen again, ssers. Perhaps--perhaps this one chooses kin, ssome of sscale, ssome of nonscale. It is a small group, it is imperfect. Ssometimes it is broken, but it is --" and there is a gobber. "--here," he says, and finishes.

There is silence from Zeke, a terse silence and a leaning forward as though he wants to offer comfort. He doesn't however, beyond his presence. Which is something at least to those who understand such things. "Thisss one undersstandss asss well. To be... trapped by one you fear. Ssssomeone more powerful than you." Zeke reaches over to clutch at his cloak which had in his moment of bravery fallen open to show an arm and leg of crystal. He had not thought to close it until now. Until memory brings it to his attention.

"But one isss not alone. You, are not alone. We will ssseek to keep you and Ssssarassthrassz safe; and more importantly to fight them." His eyes meet hers. Protect those eyes say. He offers his protection with a look, because words can only say so much. "There isss a time, a plasce. It isss here; with ussss."

For a time, Alba is silent, her hair unwrapping from Kisaiya's hand. "...I thank you," she says finally. "All of you. There is wisdom in your words, and I hear with both ears and gladness in my liver."

Placing a hand on Kisaiya's shoulder, the Witch offers her longest friend a brief upward twitch of her lips; what would, on any other face, be a very real smile. "I am sorry that only now you hear, Friend Kisaiya. Things happen with too much speed, and they demanded action."

Rising from her chair, she tucks the skull under one arm as with her hair she picks up a small milk-pail full of water, and sets it on the table, With the tongs, she digs away the sand, and picks out a smoking, black-covered object to be dunked in the pail. When the hissing and steaming subsides, she draws out what looks to be a horn, all sharp curves and sharper edges, composed of solid gold, and nods in satisfaction.

...Then she holds it over the crucible fire just long enough to soften the base, and presses it onto the skull, between and just above the eyes.

The Gobbo eyes both Chay and Zeke, and offers them a toothy smile and a finger-wiggle wave. When Alba rises, Acedia's eyes follow. Those same eyes widen as Alba pulls out a really interesting object, and she shuffles forward quietly. Standing on tiptoe, her eyes just above the top the table as she presses the horn to the skull. "Are you making your own unicorn?", she wonders.

The hunter actually, finds a place to _sit_. Chay does sit, sort of. Perched on the floor in a partial crouch. "Ssa," he says, and takes in breath.

Lets it go. "One's own kin--ssome among them. One went to them, and they laid hand on me, forssibly. They ssought to direct my actions as otherss had."

"...one does not forget. But perhapss one musst--learn to handle thiss better. Were it this-one trapped with the vampire--one does not know I would have been able to react."

He's quiet. Muses. "Or perhaps I may have, having become ussed to it." He looks to the gobber, then. "What iss a unicorn?" he asks.

Zeke's eyes slide toward Chay. They hover there and he... says nothing. He shudders from head to toe and breaths out a soft hiss. Remembers, perhaps too much. There is much memory in this room. Memory of pain between them all, each of them different and yet so close in kind. The blue-scaled sith-makar huffs out another breath, low and sad and shoulders hunched. There are words bottled up inside him and it shows in the way his jaw works, his throat bobs. Yet he can let none of them out. His green eyes stay on the ground where they can fall on no one, and can not see if anyone is looking back.

-End