Mouse's Contest closed

Samedi ran her fingers over the fungi, which was enveloping the branches of a swall tree like a ragged sleeve. It was humidly soft to the touch. She squinted her eyes and rubbed the moisture between her fingertips trying to feel the scent at the same time. It was barely detectable, a salty odor with a unique whiff of a decaying bark . Nodding to herself with a wise face, Samedi reached out with all her four hands and plucked fungi off the branches with a humid dripping sound.
"Ahh, there" she murmured, hooking the bag which was lying under her feet with her cerci and putting her findings inside " Someone has been running out of the painkiller components, but it's not me anymore"
She giggled silently.
Swamp was a spooky place. Well every place was spooky on Grimm. All kinds of scums were waiting right behind the corner just to jump out and strike to get you for a dinner, slavery, mugging or executing some sick wishes that had came in their twisted rotten minds.
There were no such scums at the swamp. There were monsters and ghosts from those tales mothers told their little ones to keep them from wandering away. There were dangerous hungry moors that would swallow you whole if you are not attentive to where you step on. There were silent predators, thrusting out of the murky waters when you least expected it.
And there was Samedi.
She wasn't as intimidating as any other prominent habitant of Grimm. She wasn't talked about as often as the Blackened Hands or Lady of Tortuga. She wasn't neither too disgusting nor too attractive for a victim.
She was plain disturbing.
Something in her behavior, the way her green eyes flickered and smile formed at her thin lips was just...confusing. No one sane could smile like that on Grimm.
And so no one was interested in checking accepted rule of Grimm: if you don't want to get your legs crushed by the random falling rock or your arm nearly bitten off by sudden wild beast or any other unexpected bad things happen to you - stay away from Samedi. Whatever you do to try to harm her - you'll be the one harmed.
Samedi wasn’t killer, trader or thief.
She simply was a hex. She never was caught casting spells or performing rituals, but no one was so eager to watch her anyway. Better safe than sorry and stay away.
And Samedi was quite fine with it.
Sounds of fight didn’t slide unnoticed past her senses - Samedi has been living here for a long time. She raised her head and stood still for a moment. Fights were rare here - mostly because swamp wasn't too picky and would devour both opponents in one ill-fated slip.
Usually it was easy for her do detect what kind of fight it was - if there was just a desperate prey who tried to escape the Monster or The Monster itself battling with one of his kin. If the last one - it wasn't any of her concern. But in the first case...
Samedi could tell one from another quite easily. But this one left her pondering. However she never moved from her place. She didn't have to be the direct witness especially when it could end in risking her safety. She would know the gist even from here.
You just learn to do it when you live on the swamp full of treacherous sounds.
Time seemed to be deceitful here as well. She was sure she had been listening to the sounds of fight long enough to conclude that both opponents had to be equal in their strength. But a startled, pained gasp, a sign of the battle coming to its end, reached her too soon.
And then there was silence. No sickening sounds of devoured flesh and crushed bones, no growls of moor. Nothing.
So she moved. Carefully, but never timidly, she stepped on the one of paths she knew by heart. Just to get the final piece of the picture.
She found it quite fast, lying sprawled on the humid mucky ground. And couldn’t give any gender classification except “it” indeed.
A figure was clad in a black tattered hooded robe with long sleeves covering it’s arms. Lower pair of limbs was bare, short and fingerless and didn’t held any essential information about stranger’s racial belonging. But long slender hoofed legs defined it as Locun.
She observed those aspects briefly, etching them in her mind while her full attention concentrated on the two parallel deep gashes, bleeding through sliced fabric on its stomach.
Samedi knew who left those marks. Caliban the Hemitian. Funny, so many people called him The Monster whereas she thought he was least likely to be it.
Complicated. Unpredictable. Full of pain. More like just a beast. That’s the price you pay for fighting The Monster with its own weapon.
Samedi eyed the chest rising and falling feebly. It was still alive. It had a chance – she could tell that wounds were deep, but only cut flesh and muscles were involved, leaving inner organs undamaged. Caliban apparently didn’t wish to go further for some unknown reason born in his murky mind.
Usually she would kneel near the victim and tend to its wounds immediately. Like she always did. Patch and fix the ones who were lucky to stay alive, bring ones she managed to tear out of The Monster’s claws. And bury ones who were not lucky enough. So they could rest in peace like individual sentient beings they meant to be, not like gnawed leftovers.
But now she hesitated. Something puzzled her about that particular stranger. Something just didn’t feel right. As if she was going to help someone who she shouldn’t be concerned about.
Could it be?...
Her gaze fell on the twin swords, lying not so far away. It was his weapon, no doubt.
The Monster doesn’t carry weapons. It needs no weapons…
She made one more step and kneeled next to the prone form, her headbands gliding over her tattooed shoulders. She looked in the supposed face, only to find it hidden beneath the bird skull-mask. Samedi was hard to surprise with odd looks – she saw Old Blood Zetula after all. At any other time she wouldn’t have taken much interest in it.
…It catches victims with bare hands, claws, teeth. It takes pleasure in doing it. Because it is The Monster.
But now she felt irritating uncertainty. Sense of her intended actions would appear wrong and foolish. As if it didn’t deserve them.
It was a Locun. How could it feel like The Monster? Yes, monsters hide among all people, but not The Monster.
But it has thousand faces. Sometimes it doesn’t hide, sometimes it does. Just to give you a fake sense of safety. Just so it could have more fun. Just to make a fool out of you…
She eased her bag of her shoulder and opened it hesitantly, mentally scolding herself for such unhurried actions and at the same time keeping the same studying stare.
It doesn’t look like The Monster. But something about it feels like The Monster… This feeling never lies… Why help this one?
A movement caught her attention. A slight turn of a head – but Myrian hex had noticed it already, aware that she was being watched. She kept digging into the bags content. Some dried herbs, some sharp scented grinded seeds, colorless ointments…Probably only she could grasp of what magic those components could be capable of, if mixed properly.
Skull-covered head moved a bit and the stare beyond empty sockets became almost palpable. Still it wasn’t in condition to make any fast moves, so Samedi stayed calm even when her thoughts raced and twirled. Her lower pair of hands pulled still damp fungus out of the bag, tore a piece from it. With her upper hands, she tentatively pulled already stained edges of cut fabric aside from wounds – a barely audible pained hiss was heard under the skull-mask – and then slapped the dripping green fungus over the wounds. The stranger shuddered a bit at the sensation, but laid still again. Soon healing effects would ease the pain and stop the bleeding. Samedi nodded to herself.
She had won some time. Now she could explore a bit.
She reached for a mask. Apprehension was building up in a creature’s invisible gaze but it didn’t stop her. Unable to simply pluck it from the head, she searched under mask. Its owner tried to obstruct, turning his head away from seeking hands, but she ignored it and after finding leather straps on the sides of unseen face, undone them. All Locun’s body became tense despite still lingering pain and weakness from the blood loss. Was it really so unwilling to have its face bared?
“It’s for your own good” she muttered, taking skull-mask off “And not such a big price for staying alive, eh?”
No response followed, but Samedi didn’t expect for it. Usually she would talk a lot. She would croon and coo and whisper soft reassurings, so poor thing she found could feel itself someone. Not something that The Monster found to be edible.
But not now.
Grasping his greenish-gray face among ocher tendrils – now she could define Locun’s gender – she peered in it. Myrian didn’t care to study his facial features meticulously. Only his eyes were important at the moment.
The Monster has thousand faces. It’s his trick. But if you have knowledge, you’ll never be the one tricked...
His eyes were purple and held an expression of deep offense and even anger in them. Probably the same look was at all his face now. However he didn’t break the eye contact, probably secretly curious or stunned at such boldness.
Samedi was searching. Past wrathful emotions, past natural stability of an eternal wanderer, past his devotions, she dove for a inner entity that lied within everyone and could be disgusting, beautiful, repulsive, loveable, totally different.
But it is always real.
She looked for the part, which puzzled her. She searched for the familiar element, which sent her senses alarm every time The Monster stepped into her way under new face.
Obviously irritated, wounded Locun moved, trying to get her hands of his face. Rising his shaking arms he pushed at her shoulders relatively weakly, but frantically, fingers almost digging.
“Don’t move or it will hurt again” Samedi warned matter-off-factly, grabbing his arms with her lower pair and pinning the, to the ground. In his healthy state she wouldn’t have been able to do that, but in his current condition he wasn’t a match for her.
Are you The Monster?...
“Don’t…” he hissed weakly in reply. She guessed he even had tried to sound intimidating. Nevermind.
Would you let a child to be victim of your hunger? Do you know how many times I buried those little ones, wondering if their parents know or are they still alive?...
Are you The Monster?...
He tried to squirm out again, bold enough to poke her with her shorter claw-like limbs and pushed his legs against the moist ground. She waited till spasm from his wounds will make him stop, breathing nervously. It seemed that he soon would be desperate and infuriated enough to actually fight her, in spite of the wounds. Emotions, violently twirling on the surface of purple eyes told her that. Locun let out something akin to a silent curse. At her or at him for his current incapability, she didn’t care.
Do you sate yourself and go, leaving bones and nightmares to ones who loved someone that was your meal? Why do you do that?..
Are you The Monster?...
Unsettling feeling didn’t live her. Samedi searched a bit more. He was uncomfortable only because of her staring into his face. Only she felt the contact.
And she found…
Are you…
She pulled away slightly. The face of Locun was an epitome of silent fury. Purple glare was smoldering now, mouth curled into fierce scowl. It seemed he would have sliced her in halves if he could. Such hate just for peeking under the mask? Probably it meant something for him. Or probably was his whim. Whatever. She was too distracted by her own discovery and only a ferocious shuddering of the pinned limbs kept her in touch in this humid boggy reality.
Locun seethed something again, but she didn’t listen.
“Sleep” Samedi moved her palm in front of his eyes. He didn’t blink, his gaze still piercing.
“Sleep” she repeated “Sleep”
“No” he growled and all his entity suddenly became hard and solid.
“Sleep” Samedi said unfazed, resting her hand on his chest. The heart was thrashing erratically against her palm.
His stare wavered a bit, first signs of fatigue and drowsiness seeping into him, despite his tense guard.
It wasn’t persuasion, nothing to relate to domination actually. Samedi always thought such things were for the weak ones who got excited about feeling power.
Her influence was natural. Something barely discernible, light. It didn’t bend to its will. It searched its way softly and inevitably as water through the thickest rock.
That’s why, nevermind how good Locun’s resistance was, Samedi was gaining upper hand. His tense arms going limp under her grasp, his legs straightening and resting on the ground again. Soon wrathful purple eyes became hazed.
“Sleep”
His lids stubbornly went up, but then closed heavily, irate look on his features smoothening gradually. Myrian listened to the heartbeat under her hand.
Thu-thu-thump-thu-thu-thump…thu-thu-thump…thu-thu-thump…
It was still irregular because of the strain his body took, but relatively calm.
Samedi lifted her palm, and sat back on her heels, her cerci clicking anxiously and eyes staring dumbly at the dark gashes on the breathing abdome. They must be worked on further – fungus couldn’t fix everything after all. But she felt too unfocused for now. Because…
The Monster…
She found it. Small, definitely smaller part of his entity was The Monster. She didn’t know exactly what could it mean.
And why bother?...
At the same time, she felt he wasn’t the whole Monster. Did it really matter?
The Monster is always The Monster…Better never trust it – it wouldn’t hesitate to bite your head off if it feels like doing so. Why help it?
Would he have helped her if found her weak and dying from those wounds? Or this small part would have got him dining on her dead corpse? She felt sick.
Better leave it. Nothing bad if The Monster would lose one face of his thousand more.
Samedi looked the unconscious Locun over. He didn’t ask her to help, right? And it was certainly mad at her, for looking under the mask. She didn’t owe him a thing, right? To go and leave him here to die would be nothing comparing it to many horrible things he may have done to feed this small Monster part of him?
May have done…
She absentmindedly felt a needle, which was safely tucked into folds of her bandages, with her fingers.
May have done…Leave to die…
And why bother?...

Sparrow awoke with a gasp, feeling overwhelmed and a bit stiff. First reality was just a haze with a thick boggy smell. Then he felt humid ground and saw dark crowns of the crooked swamp trees, which as if compensating lack of sunlight, started nurturing from the shadows…Then he heard dripping, silent distant splashing, random bird shrill cries and other sounds this place breathed with.
And then he remembered…
Swampbeastfightwhydoyouattackmewounddarknessdarknessdarkness
Dark figure approaching. Soft stinging touches. Green eyes. Searching hands on his face.
It’s for your own good… And not such a big price for staying alive, eh?
HIS MASK BEING REMOVED
He sat abruptly, hands rising to grab at the bony surface, covering his face. Stunned, he felt for the straps and found them intact. But…he couldn’t imagine all of this. He remembered his own fury at such unwanted action, remembered his anger at his own weakness, preventing him from punishing the offender…
Who had green eyes. And a feminine face, covered with yellowish bandages on top of her head and two wide, a bit tattered bands gliding down her shoulders. He almost wanted to kill her then. For removing his mask, for taking advantage of his state, for staring into his face like that…Could it be an illusion? But it means…
He let his hand slide down his stomach where he was wounded and froze, feeling sliced fabric and his skin safe and intact on the first touch. On the second one, he found two thin lines and after looking down discovered two stitches at the place of claw marks. Awareness stung at him. He was on his feet next second, looking around wildly and thoroughly.
There was nothing. No single trace or hint that could tell the green-eyed female really was here. Only stitches on his stomach and a memory of those calm hands, taking his mask off…
…not such a big price for staying alive, eh?
As if mesmerized, Sparrow picked his swords up. He took a deep breath, marveling at the lack of pain or stiffness in his abdomen. He felt quite uncertain about the situation. On the one hand, this bold healer – ghost? spirit? – kept him alive and he couldn’t help but feel grateful. On the other hand…she removed his mask. She saw his face. Why did she do it? How this would have been for his own good?
Sparrow slid his swords back in sheathes. Anyway, it wasn’t safe to stay in this part of a swamp. The beast that wounded him could still be nearby. And even if he respected its lethal skill greatly, he wasn’t going to give it a second chance to finish him off.
He still had a lot of trainings ahead…

Somewhere, among thick greenish mist and fleshy brunches, pair of green eyes watched as hooded Locun moved further, looking around scrupulously every now and then, but never aware of the gaze.
The Myrian clasped her four hands together, proud and ashamed, tranquil and upset at the same time. She did wrong. She did right. She wasn’t like The Monster. But she could just leave.
She narrowed her eyes at the black-clad figure stubbornly.
“Fine. Go and live then” Samedi mumbled from her safe post, the words rather calming her than acting like a curse “But if you really didn’t deserve being saved...'
She paused, savouring the bitter and at the same time soothing phrase, with a flicker in her eyes as she spoke the rest of it:
"...then let your life make you wish you were dead…”