Author Games Compilation [Cycle 2]

Task 3 - A Plain Arrival [CORR]

AUTHOR GAMES: BREATH OF LIFE - TASK THREE: A PLAIN ARRIVAL

They stare one another down, one in the water, one on the rocks, a knife held to the throat of an innocent bystander. Orville Stud holds the upper hand here, but perhaps he always has; victor, once, and immediately turned on by his fellow careers the next time because they knew of his prowess.

Perhaps the same has happened here, only the careers forgot to kill the damn guy. And now Corradhin is here, sopping wet with the milky licorice blood of a siren, having to deal with it. And truly, the only thing that comes to mind, and the thing he inevitably winds up saying, is: "What the fuck?"

"Hello to you too, buddy," Orville says, not missing a single beat. "Say, I don't think your friend likes me too much. Why don't you get on up here and tell her it'll all be fine?"

As if to punctuate his statement, he takes a large step back, forcing a hard-eyed Bellona along with him, and leaving a small space for Corradhin to find bearing. With his eyes never leaving Orville's face, that gashed, smirking face (or his feet, lest he try to break his nose), Corr presses his wet palms into the smooth rock and hauls himself up, muscles straining against the exhaustion of swimming and the weight of soggy clothes. When he's at his full height, matched with the other man's, he clears his throat. "Let her go, alright? We don't want any trouble."

Orville's good eye flickers down to the machete hanging on Corr's belt, slick with the same blood not yet washed away from the deeper creases of his skin, and blinks. "Looks like you want plenty of trouble." Then, back to his eyes. "You got away from the careers before they could beat you to death, I see."

Heat flushes in Corr's cheeks, and his bruises sting. "Yeah? And why aren't you with them? Come to try a second time? 'Cause I assure you, I'll beat your fucking ass before-"

"They kicked me out," Orville cuts him off, sharper now, "in the same way they did to you. They made a mistake doing that. Well, for me. You weren't much of an asset. Regardless, seems we're in the same boat, friend."

A slow exhale leaves Corr's nostrils, and he tightens his lips, chewing a flappy bit of skin away while he thinks of what to say. He tears it up, tastes the spike of fresh, pained lip. So he's out, too, he thinks. And he wasn't one of the ones that tried to kill me. Skeptical but interested, he lifts his chin. "What do you want, then? To stop by and say hi? Let her go, c'mon now."

"Sure. I'll let her go." Orville's natural smirk flows into a genuine one, voluntary. "But consider this: we've both been wronged by the same people. We're both strong and we've got manpower, reputations backing us. We can take 'em out. So I'll let her go, as long as you agree to ally me and not drive that pretty little thing of yours into me." He chuckles. "I mean the weapon. Just to clarify."

"Can you not?" Bellona whispers, taking great care not to exercise her vocal chords too much, in case they decide to spasm out into the blade held there. Orville is too enraptured by the other man's response, though, too distracted; Corr meets her eyes, sees the strength in them but also the fear, and with an unexpected sweltering of heart, of concern, Corradhin sighs.

"Fine. It's a deal."

Happily, and almost with splendor, Orville flicks the blade as far away from Bellona as it can get, and then steps back, hands held surrenderously in the air. Bellona is quick to breathe, and to latch herself to Corr's side, gripping his elbow tight despite the slightly salty liquid and slightly sticky blood there. He wants to say, "Don't touch me," but he restrains himself this time, instead settling for a small gesture meant to wriggle her off.

"Good," Orville says, nodding more to himself than the others, "good. Let's get moving then, ah? We won't find those careers just standing around like this."