The weather was starting to turn, and for this he was grateful. Even sitting there with the sun beating down on his back, he could feel it was cooler than days passed. Still, his shirt clung to his back, bathed in sweat. It was a ratty old thing, discolored from dust and travel, stained from the hard use of its short lifespan. Morwen had gotten it for him in some market or another a couple months back. It was two sizes too big, but at least he could wear it, and it hadn't had any holes. His sister had done a good job patching up what rips and tears it did accumulate, and when he folded his arms and ran his calloused fingertips along the coarse material of the sleeves, he could feel the rough texture of where she'd mended a hole: here, with a bit of cotton; here a bit of felt; here, even, a small scrap of leather sewn in. He didn't really mind how silly it must have looked. He even kind of liked having all those different materials to touch at, to pick at and fiddle with. Especially during times like these, when all he could do otherwise was sit and wait.
Wait and sit.
So wait and sit he did, arms folded, fingers plucking at the patches in his shirt. If hard-pressed, he wouldn't have been able to say with any real certainty how long it was before he heard the footfalls crunching behind him. They'd picked a good spot, he and his sister: he was seated across a petrified fallen log in a field of things turned stone. There was a lot of grit and gravel surrounding him, making it all but impossible for would-be sneaks to creep up without him hearing.
"Boy." The voice came from behind him, a little to the left. He furrowed his brow, focusing, and thought he could hear the distinct footfalls of another approaching from his right flank. Two, then? Maybe three? He didn't turn to investigate. His hands lowered slowly to the hard material of the log he sat upon, clutching at it lightly.
"Boy," The voice spoke again, a little more harsh. He sounded thirsty to Morgen, like he hadn't had enough to drink maybe all his life, or maybe that he had smoked too much wildweed and it had started to take root and grow in his throat, like older folks always warned would happen if you started smoking that stuff. "What're yeh doin' out here all alone?" Morgen could track the sound of his voice easily enough, and figured the man was circling around him now, coming from behind to stand in front of him. "What's a boy," He continued, and then cut off abruptly. There was a sharp, snort of harsh laughter as he corrected himself: "What's a
blind boy doin' out here all by hisself?"
Morgen lifted his head, turning it as if he could see the man. He'd been taught that it was polite to "look" at someone while you were speaking... even if he couldn't really see them. "I'm not alone."
There was a pause. The man in front of Morgen glanced behind him, towards his partner, brows raised inquisitively. The other man only shrugged and began to peer around warily.
"I'm with my sister," Morgen clarified, knowing that this would more than likely make them lower whatever guard they had started to raise. A blind boy and his sister; not much of a threat.
"I see!" The man exclaimed, and suddenly Morgen felt a weight settle down next to him. The man sat beside him, and the boy couldn't help but flinch lightly when he felt the stranger's arm drape over his shoulders. "Well it wouldn't be right'a us to leave yeh here all by yehself while yer waitin', now, would it?"
It wasn't wildweed this man smoked; Morgen could smell the distinct, sickly-sweet scent of devilroot, and he did his best not to gag. He turned his head away and suppressed a shudder. Everyone said that stuff would turn your gums green and make your teeth fall out, and even if that weren't true, the smell alone made him wonder why anyone would ever wanna chew or smoke that rot.
"Aye, might be we could have a little fun with the sister," This was a new voice, and Morgen assumed it was the man who had been on his other side. More footfalls, the grinding sound of pebbles and sand beneath a boot. Now the second man was in front of him, but he didn't sit down.
"Oh, think we could have plenty'a fun with this one here, too," The man who smelled of devilroot chuckled humorlessly, giving Morgen a slight shake, arm still draped over his shoulders.
Sit and wait.
Morwen was about to call of the con. She was doing her best to keep herself in the shade of one stoned log not far from her brother's position. Still, the heat reached her and her Frankenstein dress stuck to her tiny frame, providing little comfort. It was too small. It, too, was a collection of patchwork, the hem lengthened by a variety of cloths to uphold some form of modesty. She sleeves had been ripped from the shoulders to allow better movement, and the material had been reused elsewhere on the dress, mending rips. Whatever good fabric she found, she saved for Morgen.
Just a little longer....
They had perfected this routine after months of use. Morgen, dressed in his rags, would sit alone, acting as bait. Morwen would lurk in hiding, ready to act. Eventually someone would show, and eventually the twins would get to eat again. They never stayed in one spot longer than two hours; either someone would show, or they wouldn't, and the siblings would move on, if only to make some distance.
Morwen learned that there were two kinds of people who would approach her blind brother on the side of the road: those who genuinely wished to aid the boy, kind-hearted folk, and those who sought to take advantage of the situation; beasts who thought they were at the top of the food chain. The latter was far more common than the former. The two men who set upon her brother were of the latter variety.
The girl shifted a bit from her hiding spot, snatching up the weapon she'd stowed in a dirty niche at the base of the log she hid by. It was an aluminum bat, dents riddling the length of it. The handle was wrapped together tightly with rubber and leather, the knob a pale yellow cloth. Morwen double-checked the knob to insure the rune was still there, written carefully in charcoal from the previous night's fire. The spell would last three minutes... more than enough time.
The twin rose, bat in hand. She lifted it to the standing of the pair, a grimace on her face. They were both hideous. The pair looked as if they'd been baking in the sun for far too long: their hair was sun-bleached, and even their eyes seemed faded from the harsh light. The one standing was a gangly thing, twisted and gnarled from a hard life spent in the Wastelands. The other, in stark contrast, looked almost bloated. It was the larger of the two who had his arm around her brother. Her eyes narrowed at this, but she remained focused on her primary target, the one who still stood. He was more of a threat; he'd be able to reach her sooner.
"Drop whatever provisions you have and leave." Her voice sounded small, hoarse from thirst. "Do this, and I will let you live."
The twisted man turned, somewhat surprised at her sudden appearance. He eyed the little thing, her face beat red from the sun. "Well, looks like we found the sister. What'a you think yer gonna do with that?" He snorted, looking at the bat. It was ugly, certainly, but didn't look terribly frightening n the small girl's hands.
"I can bring you to your knees without swinging it," She hissed, voice dripping with venom.
The man only shook his head, obviously not feeling threatened, and stepped towards her slowly. Morwen forced herself not to flinch at each approaching footstep. She'd done this enough, made these threats enough, that she no longer trembled in such situations. The gangly man reached out and wrapped his spindly fingers around the bat with ease. "Oh, yeah?" He grinned, and it somehow made him look even more horrific, twisting his face as he looked down at her over his hawked nose.
Morwen whispered something that might have been a prayer. Three minutes. More than enough time...
The withered man had actually started to laugh, thinking she had indeed been praying, but it was a short-lived sound. His laughter mutated rapidly into a shriek of pain as electricity pulsated through the bat. He fell to his knees, holding his fried hand up for incredulous inspection. As he struggled to comprehend what had just happened to him, Morwen stepped up onto a nearby chunk of petrified wood to give herself more leverage. She brought her electrified bat down on the felled man, between his neck and collarbone. This time, his scream was accompanied by a sickening crunching sound. The scream devolved into a whistling gurgle when the bat came down for a second time, across his head. When it beat into him for a third time, square in the face, he ceased all noise entirely.
Two minutes, twenty-five seconds. Still time.
"Hands off him." She didn't even need to make this command, as the man who'd been uncomfortably close to her brother was already on his feet, on the move. She readied her bat, aiming for his distended belly, straining, sweating. The man gasped and jerked, winded, and electricity from the bat pulsed through him. Her next blow was aimed for his knee, and there was a very audible snapping sound as the bone shattered. The man succumbed to his own weight, howling in pain, and he quickly went the way of his partner, screaming turned to gasping and choking and then to silence. Once, twice. Three times she beat on him with the bat, until the aluminum sides were coated in blood.
One minute, thirty seconds. She looked to her brother. "You okay?"
Throughout the vicious beating of the men, Morgen remained seated on his log, his hands clutching at the stony bark, nails clawing at the hard material. He didn't think he'd ever get used to those sounds. There would always be something chilling about hearing bones crunch, or the wet sound Morwen's bat made when it began beating at truly dead, bloodied flesh. No matter how hungry he was whenever they played this 'game', he always lost his appetite by the end of it. He gave an involuntary shudder and closed his worthless eyes, escaping.
Now he could see. It was shades of grey, and he was lower to the ground than he'd be as a man, but he could see. The grass was brittle and dry, scratchy against his belly as he skulked about. He felt his ears swiveling like radar dishes, the kinds you could see on really old towers who hadn't yet succumb to scavenging or the elements. The smells were overwhelming. Dust and sweat and blood and ozone; a storm wasn't far off, good, maybe it would cool things down even more, maybe they could collect some water tonight if they didn't reach the outpost before dusk.
It didn't turn out to be much of an escape: the sounds of Morwen beating the men so savagely was even more clear now, with his new ears. The smell of blood was overwhelming, and he felt himself starting to salivate. His host was hungry too, he guessed. Even dogs had to eat, and she hadn't been getting much more than the twins.
He slinked forward, ears pricking at the sound the dry grasses made as they whispered across his belly. He knew he didn't really want to see what the men looked like, not now with their faces all caved in, blood pooling around them... but he was also a fifteen year old boy, and fifteen year old boys were very often at the mercy of their own curiosity. As he began to creep closer, his ear twitched back, catching the sound of unfamiliar footsteps. He paused, sinking lower to the ground. Amber eyes watched as a stranger crept from the petrified forest, a wicked, curved blade clutched in his right hand. Maybe he was with the other two men, maybe he wasn't. His skin was red and peeling, indicating a long stretch in the Wastelands, not unlike the other two. He moved with a practiced heel-to-toe step, minimizing sound as he approached Morwen from behind. It took Morgen a moment to realize that Morwen wasn't going to turn around in time, too preoccupied with her brother's well being.
"You okay?" He heard these through ears that weren't his own, and knew she would assume he had shifted out when he didn't respond. His borrowed body began to tense beneath him, and then he was off, bounding at a speed his human legs would never be able to match, launching from the earth with enough force to kick up a spray of dust and pebbles as paws left the ground. The large, black dog was on top of the man in seconds, before he was even within three yards of Morwen, jaws locking around the stranger's throat...
As his teeth sunk into flesh, Morgen fled from the dog. His sight was gone once more, and he still sat hunched on the log he'd remained on throughout the entire attack. He licked his dry lips slowly, feeling as though the salty, coppery taste of blood was still on his tongue. He drew one hand up, wiping his mouth on the back of it. "Ye-eaah... I'm okay."
It was almost worse, listening to the sounds of a beast mauling a man, and so he called the dog over to him with a wavering voice. "Spot! S-Spot! Come!" The black dog, who had grown accustomed over the last several months to being overtaken by the Astral conduit, padded away from the dying man she had just mutilated. Her tongue flicked out to lick droplets of blood from her whiskers, and her matted, bushy tail wagged in content. She rested her large head on the boy's lap and stared up at him with gold-ringed eyes. Morgen smiled lightly at the familiar weight across his legs, and ruffled her thick fur.
"Did they have anything good on 'em?"
Both Morwen and the sun-baked man gasped as Spot leaped. The former turned around, bat rising, only to lower it again when she realized Spot had it covered. It was a gruesome sight and Morwen turned away quickly. This didn't spare her the sounds of teeth on tender flesh cutting off a choked scream. The girl quickly looked to Morgen, giving a soft sigh as she saw that he was no longer in in the dog. Morgen would not be a killer.
Morwen covered her mouth with her free hand as she looked at her bat. The cloth on the knob was now burned, the magic having eaten away at the flimsy material. At least it had done its job. She mentally cursed herself for lowering her guard as she studied the further-dented, bloodied tool. The bat would be left behind.
The twin felt uneasy, and as the adrenaline from the fight began to fade, the older twin found herself trembling and weak. She dropped the bat and crossed her arms, closing her eyes in an attempt to pull herself together. After a time, she approached her brother and took stock of the situation.
Three dead bodies, all near unrecognizable by the duo's carnage. Morwen wrinkled her nose at the sharp scent of blood, mixed with the stronger, putrid smell of waste. She hated that smell. "Well... first off, we got a knife," She stepped carefully over the bodies to approach the third man, retrieving his curved blade. "Won't be needing this for long, but it'll be good just in case." She moved towards the others then, eyes diverted away from what was left of their faces. She looted the withered man first, pocketing the coins she found with marked haste, as if fearful they might vanish straight from her fingertips if she wasn't quick about it. It was only a handful, but they'd gotten by on less before. As she further investigated his belongings, she was curious to find that he seemed to have been an avid reader... though a quick glimpse of his reading material revealed that the literature contained more pictures than words, and said pictures were rather crude on all manners. She tossed the magazine over her shoulder, wanting nothing to do with it.
"They're wearing decent enough clothing. This one has leather on him." Morwen quickly tugged off the gangly man's vest. "And the other one has drugs. We could sell that. Maybe even bring some coin back to Mom and Dad!"
The bloated man had the more worthwhile stuff. A small pouch of devilroot, something that always sold well and quickly, to the right people. As she continued to rummage through his things, she let out a pleased gasp. "Ah! They also have a map!" Her fingers traced over the frail, stained paper, gauging their location. "...Looks like we're close to an outpost. It must have popped up after we left home."
Morwen rose from her crouched position, careful to avoid getting more blood on her dress. She wound her way through the bodies again to rejoin her brother once more, stowing their new ill-gotten goods in his backpack. The coins she kept in her pocket. Morwen then leaned down to scratch Spot behind the ears, though she need not lean far as the large dog's head came up to her chest. "We're gonna make sure we feed you well tonight."
The elder of the twins took her younger brother's hand, tugging on it to encourage him to stand. "If we hurry, we can make it to the outpost before dark." She looked back to Spot. "Did you sense any rain in the area?"
"Smelled it," Morgen said as he stood. His hands slipped up to the straps of his backpack, adjusting the weight. Spot looked up at the pair adoringly, that look only dogs could give, and then padded out ahead of them. "Maybe it'll hold off 'til we get there."
Hold off it did. As the sun began to set over the western horizon, those still fortunate enough to be capable of sight were robbed of their sunset as dark clouds rolled in to obscure the view. Thunder roared threateningly in the distance, just as the twins managed to make it through the gates of the outpost.
Truly, they weren't much of 'gates'. The entire outpost was encircled with a shoddy fence made of the petrified wood from the nearby stone forests. Whether intentional or not, the tops of the logs making up the fence were all jagged, sharp, as if to ward off intruders. Even so, the four gates allowing access to the trading post were opened and barely guarded. There were no weapon checks, no pat-downs for "illegal" substances; they were far away enough from Eden to not have to worry about the law, and far enough away from the main roads of travel in the Wastelands to have to worry about gang assaults or turf wars. This was, like so many other outposts scattered throughout the Wastelands, a simple market. A shoddy inn had been constructed just off the main street, and travelers from all corners of the map had set up their stalls in dirty field that passed for the market square, peddling all sorts of goods, from dried herbs to knives and cured meats. One man even even advertised the selling of mutant meat, and on display, a rope around its scrawny neck, was an ill fawn, with two extra legs dangling from its belly, limp and withered. Morgen crowded close to his sister, and Spot close to him. She seemed to know that he needed her comfort, and so the large dog never strayed, always remaining brushed against his legs, reassuring him that she was there. He typically didn't like it when they came to these sorts of places. The people were loud, the smells were awful and strong and if he wasn't careful, he was bound to get bowled over by someone in a hurry.
