Soiling Cuffs {Seb And Ara}

[whisp.]

It really was an unfortunate event that had Ara McArthur crawling across the forest floor. Something near by was laughing at her, taunting her to do something…like she hadn’t already tried that. How does one fight something that doesn’t show its face?

”If you really wanted me to fight, you’d show your true form. But instead you pick to be the coward.” And there was another slash of pain across her back. Her back was hot and stinging and there was a metallic taste in her mouth. It felt almost as if her back had a pulse of its own.

But she laughed, laughed in the face of danger and laughed hard. Using her elbows she was able to turn on the ground so she faced up at the sky. ”Is that really all you got?” Blue, tentative eyes searched the air around her. There was a snap and her eyes focused in on an object moving towards her. Her hand rose in the air and in a flash her enemy was screeching some God awful sound as she shot at it.

And finally, silence.

Muttering, Ara attempted to sit up, then realized perhaps staying where she was, was the better idea. The leader of the Unloved knew this was going to be more frequent, with the gates to heaven and hell breaking open. This wasn’t the first time this had happened to her, it just…hadn’t lasted so long and hadn’t been so painful. If it had been any other type of cut, she could heal it faster, but because it was Fantasia magic against her own it would heal slowly and painfully. Her best bet was to see if she could numb it.

She had been in the woods looking for the second opening to Realms that she and Lillian had discussed. If it really was out there, she was sure she would be able to feel it if she got close enough. But she hadn’t gotten far before…that thing attacked her. Hell, she could still see the tallest tower of the school. Ara could already see the lecture that would be waiting for her when she talked to Bryce about this.
”And where was your backup?” he’d ask her, looking at her seriously.
“I’m Ara McArthur, I don’t need backup, Bryce.” And he’d sigh and mutter something dark.
“Yes, apparently you don’t value your life either.”
But normally she didn’t and she wasn’t planning on being gone for long. She’d call it a stroll. Perhaps strolls didn’t normally have missions tagged along, but it was all in all the same.

By this point Ara knew she needed to move. Something would come along and eventually smell her blood and that something may decide to make her a snack…or finish her off for magical matters. But her back ached and felt split in two and as she positioned herself in a sitting position, Ara knew she was going no where fast.

What a sight she must look like. Her blonde hair was messy with twigs and some mud and probably some blood. Her whole body was coated with a layer of sweat and dirt. Not to mention her back was exposed to the world and how much of the wetness on her back was blood or sweat, she didn’t know. Her dress was frayed and torn in parts and mud smeared down the front of her dress. Oh my, Ara was a mess.

Raising a hand to her face, she carefully dabbed at a stray cut that lay across her cheek. She couldn’t go back to school looking like this. It was one thing to explain to the Unloved what had happened to her, and it was another thing to have to explain it to someone like Dante Yerami. The young lady figured most of her problems she could cover up, and she just hoped that she wouldn’t look in too much pain.

It looked like it was going to be a long couple of days.

[Javert]

It was required of any leading man worth his salt, or cardamon, perhaps--although this particular hero knew the origin of the idiom in question, he much preferred seasonings of a sweeter nature--to know at all times the location of a damsel in distress. His ears must be fine-tuned to detect delicate cries for help, his keen eyes narrowed to ascertain a lustrous golden curl among foliage, his strong arms all too ready to cradle the maiden to his mighty chest and whisk her into non-treacherous grounds. Behind every good man, after all, was a good woman.

This leading man simply treasured too many women to keep track of all of them at all times. It was the banal bane of popularity.

Therefore, when Sebastian Ambrose Benedict North wandered into the woods with one of his precious jewels, it was unfair to assume that he would stumble upon a diamond in the rough immediately. He had initially more pressing matters to which to attend, the matter in question doing the pressing with her lips against his.

The first three buttons of his shirt were undone, yet had been in such a state for some time; Sebastian was confident that his current lady would not tolerate any actual removal of clothing while in so primal a location as a forest. Sebastian would have retorted that the lady lacked a sense of adventure if she were not so pressing a matter. As it was, they had stumbled into the forest to escape wandering eyes, and recently had stumbled entirely off the path. Sebastian had finally stopped the lady with her back against a tree to avoid her colliding with several others. He determined that it had been the gentlemanly thing to do.

As the lady turned her head shyly to one side, Sebastian contented himself with caressing with his lips the area below her left ear. “I should return to class,” demurely murmured the lady. Sebastian rolled his eyes. Pretty Faces never wanted to return to class for educational purposes. She wished only to discuss with her clique mates the most recent details of her passionate woodland escapade with Sebastian North. He didn’t blame her, the fortunate soul, but nor did he wish for her to leave just yet.

I know several ways to keep your mouth shut, he thought. “So soon?” he purred instead, all innocence. “Certainly your inevitable advancements in your studies can be momentarily encumbered…” He opened his eyes for the satisfaction of her bemused expression alone. Instead, he saw something moving beyond her left shoulder.

Damn. Yonder diamond glimmered.

“I agree,” he amended, curtly, dipped the lady into a kiss dramatic enough to make her forget any further protest, and steered her toward the entrance of the forest. “Return to your castle in haste, my lady, although my heart pines for our next meeting,” he called as she waved over her shoulder and half-tripped back to the school. Beneath his breath, he added, good-naturedly, “Wench.”

He quickly returned to his previous location. Now, the leading man stepped into his limelight: his ears were fine-tuned for… Muttered oaths? Yet his keen eyes narrowed to detect lustrous golden curls, indeed. Sebastian sighed. There was only one diamond who frequently allowed herself to be so thoroughly out in the rough. Ara McArthur had engaged herself into some sort of trouble again.

Buttoning his cuffs, Sebastian picked his way across the various foliage, as if on a promenade through Hyde Park, before settling on his haunches near the diamond in question. He radiated insouciance, but his pale blue eyes were narrowed enough for a trained observer to detect his concern. “Now, now, Miss McArthur,” he tutted, slipping a gentle hand beneath her chin, “a damsel in distress ought always to alert the leading man of her precarious position.” He allowed himself a moment to inspect the familiar beauty of her face, and of her form, but it was the latter surveyance that gave him pause. She was as lovely as always, but bloodied and covered in sweat, which may have lessened her appeal but heightened his anxiety. “What in God’s name happened to you?”

[whisp.]

As the seconds turned into minutes, Ara McArthur became more aware of the pain coursing through her body. It was mostly her back that had taken the worst of it, but she could feel the thudding of another deep cut on her leg along with the sprinkles on her arms from being tossed. It seemed that as the time went on, the throbbing got worse and almost…burned. This caused a slight panic to flood her thoughts but as she desperately tried to magic healing into her back, it only seemed to make the pain worse. Lovely.

The young blonde adjusted herself so that she was leaning with her shoulder more than her back and she hissed back a sound when her wound came into contact with a cool breeze.

What if she were to die out here? She was defenseless. Ara didn’t think she could even wish her shoes off without it hurting her. Without being able to move, and not being able to do magic, Ara wasn’t sure how long she’d be in the woods. Surely, if something wanted her dead, it would find her now.

”I’ll bring more people next time.” She muttered to Bryce, as if he could hear her. The combination of heat and pain made the world spin and her eyes shut to keep some balance. In the distance she could almost hear magical creatures taunting at her, laughing at her, mocking her. If she didn’t leave or get help, she’d end up dead, Ara was sure of that. She just wished they’d stop laughing and talking and—WAIT.

Her eyes snapped open and after the initial blurriness wore off, Ara was able to focus on two figures in the distance. Human figures. But when a yell went to escape her lips, it got caught in her throat. The world seemed to almost lurch forward and Ara jolted, her eyes slamming shut again.

The ground underneath her seemed to be moving and her body seemed to almost be falling. She let out a faint whimper as her back roared with pain. But suddenly, the spinning and falling stopped.

When her eyes opened, Ara was shocked to see whose face was so very close to hers. ”I’ll make sure to get a notice to you faster next time, Seb.” A pained smile crossed her lips and she reached up to place her hand over his. Behind him, the trees seemed to sway more and her eyes had to take several moments to fully focus on his face.

”Would you like the real answer or the fake answer?” She asked, letting her eyes shut again. ”The fake answer would be: Well, you see her Seb, my boy, I was climbing this tree and I missed a branch and tumbled out. Everything is just fine and dandy. Just a few cuts. And the real answer would be: You know those things that you’ve seen me do before that I can’t explain? Well, something bigger and badder than me wanted me dead, but I destroyed it first. But not after it took quite a lot out of me.” She let out a raspy breath. ”Seb, I really need your help. I can’t use my gifts to help me and my back feels like fire. I think there was some poison in its weapon too because everything is spinning really badly and things are moving that shouldn’t be.” Ara swallowed hard, her mouth running dry. ”I promise I’ll clean anything you get dirty. And I know this favor will pain you, surely, but Seb, can you help get my dress off and get me to a stream so that the water can clean out some of the poison and blood?” It was a hefty favor and she wasn’t exactly sure how he’d reply. She just…she needed to do something now before things got worse. And they were heading that way and quickly.

[Javert]

Sebastian Ambrose Benedict North was not an entirely selfish man. He had before displayed cases of extreme selflessness, in fact, now that he allowed his mind to wander to such instances. Unfortunately, he was unable to remember them.

He was most definitely not always a bastard, however, even though specific evidence to the contrary could not be summoned. Therefore, his mind did not once wander to the memory of the fleeing Pretty Face’s lips against his, nor the weight of her delicate arms around his neck. Instead, he was focused entirely on the diamond in the rough--his diamond, in fact, since he was the one who had discovered her here. He could not help but feel somewhat possessive, and as she covered his hand with her own delicate one, he bowed his head to gallantly kiss her knuckles. His focus lay entirely on her well-being, and her current unfortunate circumstance. Rescuing her from the mire in which she was embogged* was Sebastian’s unbastardly and entirely selfless purpose.

The corner of his lips suggested a smirk; the rest of his mouth smiled. “That would be muchly appreciated,” he said, meeting her startlingly blue gaze with his own, mere inches away. “You allowed me no time to don my shining armor.”

Because Sebastian Ambrose Benedict North was not always a bastard, he listened intently when Ara spoke at length, choosing not to respond to a question that he wisely deemed rhetorical. He assumed that pain and shock had coalesced to serve as an incendiary for speech. He shifted, slightly, his legs protesting his uncomfortable stance (yet he refused to kneel or sit; his trousers had been worn only once before), and moved his hand from her face to simply clasp her hand in his own. There was something disconcerting in her eyes--a flicker of fear, like a shadow that rippled across the surface of a lake. Sebastian frowned. Her… Abilities? Magic, something murmured. His mind was open almost to a fault, so he was not foolish enough to entirely swat the possibility away with an internal eye roll. His father had sworn to him of witchcraft on the sea--sirens that lured men to their doom, monsters that brooded beneath the fathoms, Haitian priestesses sending storms to plague enemy ships. How was he to deny that magic could exist anywhere else?

I promise to clean anything you get dirty, she said, and Sebastian almost winced--was he really that much of a bastard? “Ara,” he said, arcing his brows. And then her next sentence stopped him.

He could not restrain a rakish grin Here, naturally, was where the notoriously open mind of Sebastian Ambrose Benedict North gaped like a hole in the earth, and he began to consider that, although she was in grave peril, his diamond in the rough was also wearing very little clothing, and although she was battered and bruised, she remained a jewel. She’s poisoned, you oaf, some sensibility snarled, but the rest of his mind was satisfied that clothing would in fact be removed in this forest tonight after all. With a light hand he tucked a golden strand behind her ear, his thumb lingering for longer than was necessary on the skin of her cheek, his palm at the curve of her neck.

“An arduous task indeed, but someone has to do it,” he murmured, and offered her a reassuring wink. Releasing her hand, he stood, slowly, brushed nonexistent dirt from the knees of his trousers, and spread his arms wide. “I shall have to carry you, first,” he declared, eyeing the wound on her back (and not the slivers of pale flesh he glimpsed through the gashes in her dress), “in a manner that does not exacerbate your battle scar. I promise.” He stooped to reposition himself, calculating where best to place his arms and at which angle to carry her. “Now, my diamond, relax. I encourage your unconditional trust. I’m a professional.”


*embogged--to be in a bog. i.e., 'She was embogged in the mire.' em-BAWGED. country of origin USA.