Restless Soul - The New Adventures of Niamh & Looch Options

[PhonAntiPhon]

A Word To The Wise:
This story continues directly on from the end of what was the final tale: 21/09/13 - "From Darkness" - HERE. For anyone reading this who isn't familiar with the adventures of a certain Bosmer, a little background reading might help - (check my sig, or the link above) - for those of you who are, well it's nice to be back.
And yes, I *know* it's not Cyrodiil, but it will be, we just have to get there, be patient...
======================================================

-RESTLESS SOUL-
.I.

A soft lambency filled the apartment, from outside and far below the muted hum of early morning traffic filtered in through a half-open window. Lucinda awoke slowly, lay for a time under the covers, her head resting on the soft pillow, staring up at the smooth white ceiling. Beside her the woman from the night before slept peacefully on, her breathing slow and regular.

She'd said her name was Niamh E., just that and nothing more. She was the singer in one of the bands that played at weekends down at the waterfront bars. Luciana herself had worked in a grill bar on the front and had seen her about from time-to-time, had even stopped in Gracy's on the way home to hear her band once. Not really her thing, a bit too punky but none too shabby nevertheless. She had found the woman herself though more than a little intriguing; all tight leathers and colourful hair woven with red linen strips; piercings and heavy black makeup completed her look.

She'd come across as sassy onstage, giving hecklers and fans alike as good as they gave her, all the time following whisky with whisky, cigarette with cigarette. By the last song she'd stripped to her bra and knickers, skinny body jerking and weaving to the jittery beat of the music, hair lank about her face and shoulders, her liberally tattooed porcelain skin running with silvery sweat. As the final chords jangled out she was laughing and bouncing, dark eyes glinting under the stage lights, her body a blur as she spun around and around, arms stretched out, screaming at the top of her voice before finally collapsing onto the stage and crawling off on hands and knees to cheers and whistles and applause from the crowd. Lucinda remembered how jealous she had felt of Niamh's energy and life and how she had wished, and did still, that she too could be more like her.

Lucinda was not naturally attracted to women, but even she'd had to admit to herself that there was undoubtedly something about Niamh, she was a force of nature for sure and mysterious also, somehow, not just her manner or her looks on stage but, something, there was something about her that Lucinda could not quite place her finger upon; a look or an expression that betrayed something deeper maybe. Life moved on however, her job changed to another part of town and with it came a relationship with a guy who seemed - as they always do - to be The One.

He was not, as it turned out, and six months later she found herself single and alone, feeling sorry for herself in her apartment on the the tenth floor of a low rent block on N- Street. It was already dark and she had perhaps had a little too much wine when she found her thoughts turning once again to a certain mysterious and intriguing woman, in a band, on the waterfront.

-x-

So she found herself once again in Gracy's, standing at the bar sipping a gin and tonic and watching a whirlwind of life spin and dance across the stage and thinking, "why am I here? For the life? For the energy? Or for her..." in truth she did not know, but regardless clapped and cheered with the rest as once more, quivering with nervous energy, the real reason for her coming out crawled from the stage, a strange and spindly thing, dripping wet in dark underwear.

The performance over, the rest of the band left the stage and the audience drifted back to their seats and into their booths. A growing sussuration of whispered conversation and piped songs replaced the live music of only a few moments earlier. Around her the long bar began to fill up and Lucinda, still on her first drink and rapidly feeling more and more out of place and alone despite the crowded space, finished up and turned to go, placing the empty glass on the counter.

"Buy me drink?" Came a voice directly behind her. Lucinda froze, her blood draining into her feet. Heart hammering, she turned around. She was standing there, right there. Nodding her head slightly, she raised an eyebrow at Lucinda. "Hi, I'm Niamh E., just that." Lucinda froze for a moment. "Whu..." She said, her mind working furiously. Niamh chuckled, chewing at the silver ring that passed through her lower lip. Turning to the bar, she signalled the barman. "Whisky." She looked at Lucinda, grinned again. "She'll have the same, so she will."
The drinks duly arrived, and Lucinda numbly handed over the money. "Keep the change." She croaked when the barman brought back a handful of coins. "You have a voice, then." Said Niamh with a smile. "Don't mind if I do..." So saying she pocketed the change.

Niamh's long black hair was tied up in a high ponytail, and Lucinda could now see it was shot through with streaks of dark red and burgundy. "You have a name?" Niamh turned to face Lucinda as she asked, and it occurred to the latter later that it was quite possible that she had genuinely expected her to not actually have one. "Lucinda." She replied. "...Lucy for short."

Just for a moment, something passed behind Niamh's big chestnut eyes. "Lucy." She repeated the name slowly, turning it over in her mouth as if it reminded her of something. Then she blinked and gave a brief little half-smile; raising her glass she said, "I'll call ya Lucy, then." Lucy nodded. "If you like." Niamh paused, her glass halfway to her lips, regarded the other from under furrowed brows. "I might, at that..." Lucy felt herself blush.

-x-

It was impossible not to get on with Niamh. It was like fighting with some inexorable maelstrom; no matter how hard you struggled, you just kept getting drawn in. Not that Lucy was doing a great deal of struggling mind, on the contrary, another whisky later and Lucy, who had already had two glasses of red wine before leaving the flat, found herself close in a booth with Niamh, who seemed almost totally untouched by what she had drunk, and regarded the other woman across the table with wry amusement as Lucy flubbed her words and giggled behind her hands.

Back in the present, Lucy smiled, and cast a glance to her side at Niamh's still sleeping form. From out of the window the street down below had grown busier and the room was definitely lighter. Never mind, she was content. Closing her eyes she let her mind drift back to the evening before, it already seemed so far away.
One thing she did remember was that, before the evening got a little... hazy, she had sat and looked at Niamh as they talked, taking her in, as if wanting to record every detail of that first time they had met, as if it were the first time she had ever met anyone.

They'd downed the first shot in one, in silence, and Lucy had somehow ended up paying for another and Niamh had again taken the change. Lucy, feeling like some awkward teenager on a first date instead of a thirty-five year old divorcee, stumbled over further introductions and obvious questions about Niamh's band. Somewhere along the way though the answers and the conversation drifted away to be replaced by a silence that seemed to enclose the two of them in a comfortable isolating sphere and cut off all sound, leaving only vision and that, it felt to Lucy, was enhanced, somehow.

Niamh's face was long and angular, yet somehow delicate, "elfin" might have been the way to describe it; full lips and a small nose and two widely-set eyes, large and chestnut coloured, set in deep and shadowed sockets. Within the pupils though there was depth, like they were two unfathomable pools. Her eyes were captivating and seemed to drag Lucinda's attention back to them every time she moved her own gaze away. Around her left eye a horseshoe of multicoloured circles had been tattooed, with a small blue star just beneath. Her ears seemed overly large in comparison to her head, and they were heavily pierced through with rings; in addition to these there was a ring in her lip and another through her nostril, they were all thick bands of silver, and she was constantly chewing at the one in her lip.

Lucinda remembered that her gaze had looped lazily downwards, past Niamh's mouth; her lips, coated in black lipstick, moving silently it seemed to Lucy as she spoke, and down over her shoulders. It occurred to her now, here in bed with sobriety once more crystallising her thoughts, that the other woman had been watching her, Lucy, looking at her, all the time...
Niamh had been wearing some kind of tight black leather affair that left little to the imagination, it was unzipped to just below her chest and left her long, slender yet surprisingly muscular-looking arms bare - (and she was indeed, as Lucy was to find out later, considerably stronger and more sinewy than she seemed) - her skin was porcelain white, and unmarked but for numerous swirling tattoos of many colours, consisting, it turned out, exclusively of various shapes; circles and squares, stars and crescents. The effect was to make it seem like she was wearing some kind of dazzle camouflage, like the ships that Lucy had read about had been painted with in the war. Later, in the flat, it had been difficult to keep track of her movements, or perhaps that had just been the whisky.

"...another." The sound of the bar and its occupants crashed back in on Lucy. Feeling as if she were falling forwards, she snapped suddenly upright on the seat. Niamh waited patiently for her to compose herself, her head cocked on one side, long fingers steepled before her, the nails painted a deep black. "I said, get us another, I have to pee." Except Lucy heard it as: "...Ai harv t'pee..." Niamh's accent had a curious Gaelic quality to it, neither Scottish nor Irish, but some strange mixture of both. There was an odd sing-song quality to it also, a kind of underlying musicality present in every word she said. It was a little weird but rather pleasant at the same time - (a lot like Niamh herself, Lucinda thought). "Whisky?" Asked Lucy. Niamh winked. "Aye, that's my drink." She got up from the table but then paused, looking at Lucy with that same curious half-smile, and again Lucinda had the oddest feeling that Niamh recognised her somehow. After a moment Niamh said, "Don't worry, you're doin' just fine." So saying she leant quickly across the table and kissed Lucy once on the lips, before moving off and away, smoothly disappearing into the crowd.

Lucy raised her fingers to her mouth, the impression of Niamh's lips fading only slowly. Her touch, her closeness at that moment, her scent; cinnamon and sweat, whisky and something... exotic; Lucy took a deep breath, her heart was beating way too fast and for a moment she felt sure that the other woman had drugged her. "She's clearly not your type." Said her stern inner voice. "You've paid for the drinks all night and now she's poisoned you! walk away Lucy..." Nevertheless she found herself at the bar once more, and her second thoughts grumbled into silence, ignored for the moment at least.

It was very late by now and the bar, though still certainly lively, was nowhere near as full as it had been previously in the evening, and as such Lucy was able to get herself served fairly quickly. "I see you've got something goin' there with Niamh." Said the barman as he came over and took her order. He was a large man with a green mohican, a wide nose and a wider mouth, his name tag identified him as Boris. Lucy smiled and shrugged in a kind of "Maybe, sort of" way. "This is it." She thought. "This is where he tells me she's no good." Deep in her mind, her inner Lucinda sat up and grinned smuggly. Boris poured the drinks and waved away her money when she offered it. "Nah, keep it, it's on me. She'll fleece you that girl will, and you'll still love her for it." He raised a stubby finger. "Word to the wise though, be careful with 'er, she's more fragile than she looks, is Niamh." Lucy raised an eyebrow, squinting slightly from the whisky she'd drunk. "How do you mean? " Boris looked around him, then leant forward conspiratorially. "Just that she's been through a lot, that's all. Acts all tough and brash she does but she ain't as hard as she thinks that she is, I know." He pointed a finger at himself. "I've been like a father to 'er these past few years..." Lucy wanted to ask more, and it seemed Boris was about tell her something further, but other customers had by then arrived and, with a final glance at her and a brisk nod, he left to serve them.

Lucy was, as far as was possible given her increasing level of inebriation, somewhat more thoughtful when she returned to the booth. Niamh had already returned, and was slouched nonchalantly on one of the bench seats, toying with the silver ring that pierced her nostril. As Lucy sat down and passed her the whisky, Niamh gestured with her chin to the barman. "Boris collared you, did he?" She asked. "Yeah, he did..." She paused for a moment, took a sip of whisky. "He said, um..." It was her fourth or fifth of the night and the words in her head came only reluctantly to her lips. "I know what old Boris says." Interjected Niamh. "Now though, now's not the time for serious talk."

"What... is it now the time for?" Asked Lucy, suddenly breathless, her voice catching in her throat. Very deliberately Niamh drained her glass and placed it on the table. She licked her lips and stared directly at the other woman. "Well," she said, her curiously accented voice lilting musically, "I suppose we'll just have to see, won't we?"

-x-

This post has been edited by PhonAntiPhon: Jul 22 2015, 11:36 PM

[PhonAntiPhon]

A head appeared, silhouetted against the sky.
Lucy stiffened; an instinctive reaction, at the same time drawing back into herself, staring at the shape. Then, as her brain made sense of the shadowed details, she became suddenly limp as the tension drained away from her body, accompanied by the hissing of pent-up breath from between her teeth.
“Niamh...!” She whispered, the relief palpable in her voice.

“Aye...” Came the reply. “Cum uppe oot o'theyar Luce, ai hai go' sum fud f'r'us.”

Whilst Lucy clambered out from between the tree roots, her companion laid a blood-soaked, cloth-wrapped bundle down upon the ground and, squatting down upon her haunches, proceeded to unwrap it. Lucy came over, wincing at the various pains and aches in her joints and muscles. Looking down, an expression of distaste fell upon her face as the bloodied carcass was revealed.

Niamh unfolded the cloth and smoothed it around her catch, heedless of the blood. Pausing, she looked up at Lucy and seeing her expression, smiled. “Ye'll suin lurn tai stoppe beyin' soch a Prynsesse.” She said, though not unkindly, her dark eyes focussing intently upon Lucy. “Fud heeyar uz nae lyke ynne ur wurl', buit bettah sootyd tae lyvvin' heeyar...”
She pointed, for emphasis, to the ground between her boots.

“Franklee,” she continued, dropping her gaze and turning her attention back to matters of butchery, “ai cuid ne'er stomyk ur fud, ytte wuz alus tae o'er-kuik'd fer mai lykin'.”
Lucy shuddered inwardly at the thought that, even hungry as she was, she would have to go without because Niamh would try to feed her lumps of raw meat.

“Dinnae wurree,” said Niamh then, not looking up from her task, but nonetheless anticipating Lucy's fears; “ai wuidnae mak y'eet thus the wai ai wul.” She stopped again, and pointed over to the edge of the clearing; “Ye go fyne sum wuid fer th'fieyar, an' a'll sort thus oot.” She winked at Lucy, and went back to her knife-work.

Relieved, Lucy turned and made her way back to the tree under which she had so recently been hidden. There were many dry branches scattered about its base and in truth that was just fine by her.
The clearing that they were in backed onto the denser forest and beyond a farily tight delineation of thick, verdant undergrowth all was – (to Lucy's mind) – rustling shadows filled in part with Woman-Spiders and crazy Orcs bursting with unhinged lust.
Niamh had thus far done nothing to allay her fears in this regard, but even had she done so, Lucy felt more than certain that even in the absence of these two aggressors, there would be more than likely any number of creatures slinking about in the leaf-laden gloom of the trees that would be only too eager to take their place, as part of a painful and potentially very brief and fatal nightmare.

When she returned with a decent-sized bundle of firewood cradled in her sweaty arms, Niamh had finished filleting the carcass and, having sliced off a chunk of meat for herself, had skewered the rest, lengthways, upon a long, thin stick.

Lucy dumped the firewood on the ground and stood waiting. Niamh stuck the makeshift kebab into the ground and stood up. There was a pause as the two women looked at each other.
Niamh glanced at the wood, her eyebrows raising.
Quiet anticipation hung about them.

Eventually Niamh shook her head.
“Ye've a bundel tae lurn...” She muttered under her breath, before bending down to build the fire.

Lucy stood watching Niamh as she worked, feeling stupid and useless, her empty belly gurgling impatiently as the Elf constructed the fire, clearing a space around it of leaves and grass.
Then, once the firewood was prepared, as Lucy watched her, Niamh did a very strange thing; moving her fingers Just So, she angled the palm of her hand in the direction of the firewood.

There was a feeling of static and of heat, and Lucy took a step back as the firewood caught and began to burn merrily.
“What... What did you do, Niamh?” She asked quietly, her brows knitted in puzzlement.

Niamh positioned the wooden stick with the meat on to better catch the heat of the fire, then stood up. It became obvious to Lucy that the Elf had no intention of answering her, of explaining, and Lucy was just about to mention this when Niamh turned to her and said quietly; “Ytz jes' suthin' ai ken dae, K?”
“Sorry Niamh, I was just... curious...” Stammered Lucy, a little taken aback at Niamh's change in tone.

Niamh laughed, once, a short and sharp bark.
“Dinnae b'kureeyus 'bowt thus,” she said, her eyes hard; warning in her voice, “ytz dun me nae guid...”

With that, she turned to the fire and dinner, and silence draped itself about the two women like a thick, dark cloak.

-X-

The meat was surprisingly good, once it was done to Lucy's satisfaction. It was rich and flavorsome, with a peaty tang to it. Frankly, though, it would not have mattered had it been the most disgusting thing that Lucy had ever placed between her lips. By the time it was ready, its juices dripping from it into the fire, hissing and popping, Lucy's belly was gurgling and cramping painfully, knotted in anticipation whilst her mouth was watering so much, saliva was threatening to spill down her chin.
Even the sight of Niamh tearing into her piece, raw and bloody as it was, covered still in grass and dirt, could not dampen Lucy's hunger and she ate virtually all of the remaining meat, devouring it with a kind of manic eagerness.

Niamh, having wolfed down her – admittedly smaller – meal, sat back and watched her companion, picking at her teeth with a long fingernail, her mouth and chin stained red from her dinner.
“Ye hae go' yer ap'tyte bak, ai see.” She remarked, grinning, as Lucy finished eating.
“That was so good...” Replied Lucy, almost breathless, licking the juice from her sticky fingers.

In the fast-gathering dusk of the evening, Niamh's eyes glittered in the flickering light of the fire.
“Ye've no' arsk'd wut ytte wuz...” She remarked, one eyebrow raised quizzically.
She was, obviously, testing Lucy, and the latter replied in kind; “Do I want to know...?”
Niamh pretended to think about it for a moment.
“Nah,” she said at length, shaking her head, “bes' no'.”
The two women laughed; a welcome release.

Sated by her meal, Lucy made to lie down on her back on the grass, but paused halfway, turning to look over to Niamh.
“Will we be safe here, tonight?”

“Aye.” Niamh placed another short branch on the fire, shoring it up against the night and its accompanying chill. “Ai'll kip a luik owte, tho'.”
“Not all night, surely...?” Asked Lucy, suddenly bothered. Regardless of the circumstances of her arrival in this world, and her disadvantages within it, Lucy was growing fearful of being a burden to Niamh, even if she was, really, her responsibility.
But still...

Niamh smiled, and in the flames Lucy could see her teeth glinting.
“Nae, ai'll wek ye, wen ai nid tae slip.”
“Ok.” Mollified, Lucy lie down on the grass. She really had no idea what she would actually do, should anything happen, but regardless, at least she could feel she was contributing something, even if it was just to wake Niamh up.

On her back on the cool grass, Lucy gazed up at the darkening sky. A breeze blew across her and she shivered a little, though now her belly was full and she was by the fire, the chill felt good. Placing her hands behind her head, she lay quietly for a time, watching the night cover the sky above and the first twinklings of stars appear; at once both familiar for what they were, and yet totally alien, too.

There seemed to be millions more stars of every hue, all in strange constellations, and the two moons: Secunda and Masser – (although Niamh had told her that wise men in the Imperial City had found that the smaller one, Secunda, went round the larger, apparently, with both then wheeling around skies in a dance) – well they were immediately the strangest of all, in a way.

More than anything else it was the sky that made her feel that she was truly somewhere “Other”; somehow even more than the Orcs and the bandits and what-all; the Marble City, and even Niamh, for all her transformation.
The sky was, somehow such a blunt and all-encompassing statement of “Elsewhere”.
...Two moons...
...The stars are so different...

She knew it would a long time before she knew how she felt, or reconciled herself with her situation, but right in this moment, belly full and with the warmth of the fire washing over her body alternately with the coldness of the dark, and with her familiar-strange - (companion? Lover?) - keeping watch, she found she simply wanted to drift peacefully away.
She had intended to ask Niamh about their plans but she found that a comforting exhaustion had overborne her.

Marooned on the shore of some strange land, an ocean of sleep flowing ever more insistantly over her body, she managed merely a whisper:
“...Niamh...”
Before she found herself drifting away, letting the currents take her where they would.

...Much later, she dreamed of long fingers gently tracing the contours of her face, and of a strong and sensuous scent of cinnamon...

-X-