Beyond Stairwells and Doors, Up and Away

[Creejak]

Summer was winding down, her nights becoming darker much earlier and bringing with them chilled winds far from the north. Frosts were more frequent in the early mornings, and the harvest would soon begin; such things made the poisoner bitter, as he gazed at the trees whilst passing by, their orange and dying green leaves so loosely hanging on for dear life. The crops he needed, though, were becoming rarer by the day, and occasionally he had been forced into a shop were the prices were steep even for a Grandmaster...not that he had ever been well off, status or nay. It was then that he resigned himself to finally making the move to the castle Lord Mecra had bestowed upon him, if only to use a room or two to grow his stock and dangerous gardens.

However, he was content to put such a measure off until the last possible moment; settling down had never been a concern or need for him, nor had he ever wanted it. Although the Noctis Grandmaster had never once considered himself a nomad, he was rather prone to wandering, yet he often returned to a favored place in much the same manner as a contented dog. Thus, when he finally did decide to at least play it off as though he had decided to permanently reside in Lord Kamui’s old castle, mostly due to what he had spoken to the mother Fay Southwind, Creejak needed to once more return to his old ‘residence’ on proper Noctis grounds, if only to gather a few things.

The old student apartments were unsurprisingly where they had always been, though they looked slightly more full than the last time Creejak had spent a night in ‘his’ bed. Still, there was a vacant feeling to the grounds that was comforting in that the lands were still daunting. As his mare’s hooves set upon the cobblestones that made up the courtyard, he steered the nag with hard jerks of her leather reigns, the beast giving an unhappy gurgle as she nearly tripped over herself in haste to obey.

The stables were bathed in the golden light of the early morning, and although Creejak’s haggard breath still clung in the thin air, he was certain the day would warm up. A brief search quickly located an old blanket made for a carriage trotter which he threw over his mount, loosing her tack and giving her a firm but gentle pat on her long neck. At long last, the languidly curled up cat resting upon the horse’s haunches showed a sign of life, spreading its limbs out in a massive stretch while its jaws parted to let the breath of sleep escape. The massive feline, far too large to be a regular house pet yet still too small to be an exotic wildcat, leapt gracefully down from its perch and went about pruning its tabby marked coat, purring softly as it dragged itself on its rear into a patch of the warming sunlight.

Creejak was gone from the stable by the time the tom looked up and decided to follow, its toes barely touching the ground enough for the tips of its claws to scratch the stone in a brisk yet leisurely pace, catching up to the human so reverently striding away. The two were headed towards the tall longhouses that branched away from the Noctis library and Main Hall, the grand architecture that was the Church of Secrets looming up from the horizon shortly behind them; the stained glass windows that dotted the church like the plague glimmered with orange light, creating a beautiful picture to any artesanal eye. The human ignored the view, his face pointed downwards to face the grey stones that shifted and clacked beneath his feet, while his eyes focused sharply from the tops of their sockets, angrily focused within a calm expression.

As the poisoner entered the first doorway, the large arch above him taking away the light all too suddenly, he whipped forth from a pocket beneath his traveling cloak a palm-sized pocket watch, golden plated and decorated with pretty lines winding about likes snakes. Flicking the lid open, he ignored the mirror set into the top, eyes unblinking as he gazed at the numbers and clock hands. He wanted to be gone before the zenith hit, which gave him little time to gather his things and be gone. Fortunately, he didn’t own much.

Why had he not been placed in a more appropriate place, the poisoner pondered, when he had been promoted to a Grand Master so long ago? Was it because of his infrequent visits to the campus? His unwillingness to teach, perhaps? His certain and established hatred for meeting potential, unlikely apprentices? Whatever the reason, he was disgruntled; traveling through the student apartments meant he would encounter others almost certainly. The cat at his knees let forth a loud call as if in agreement, and was quickly shushed with a soft hiss through the teeth.

Striding quietly through the halls was easy for the stealthy murderer. Having practiced silence and patience, and rehearsed them many a time in both leisure and work, had given the slouching poisoner a remarkable gift for not being noticed when he didn’t want to be; he never wanted to be noticed. Much like the cat, the balls of his feet barely rested upon the soft stones of the upper floors before quickly picking themselves up again, the occasional fluttering of his cloak and his outline amid the still-shadowy corridors the only indication that something may be moving about in the early morning.

Running a hand through his greasy black hair, he counted the doors and began to fish out a rustic, unscratched key. The key looked better kept than almost everything on the Grandmaster; after all, it had barely been used. Finally, after climbing three flights of stairs and finding his way through countless hallways, he came to a room with a number and name that had been scratched off by confused servants and further hidden by dust. The keyhole lock gave way with a clank after he turned the key, and a long, winding staircase showed the way to yet another floor. Without a huff or a sigh, Creejak moved up the final staircase like a bat out of fire, reaching the top and unlocking a second door leading to a smaller, squarer hallway with only two doors. There was furniture in the hallway as well, as though it were but a waiting room, and artwork of sunsets and red skies over battles lining the walls. A few thin windows were shuttered up, leaving the light to snake through the cracks between the boards and contend further with the heavy velvet curtains. Creejak blinked in the darkness, bringing out a small bit of rolled plant and a lucifer, striking it against his cheek and taking a long drag. The darkness didn’t seem to deter him, and he headed for the western of the two doors, remembering just exactly why he had taken up residence in that particular room. Sunrises were not his favourite thing in the world.

It was most certainly connected to the student apartments, but it was his, for when he wanted it. The room was more furnished than he remembered, and with chagrin he noticed that he did in fact have more than he remembered.
I work for a reason, I suppose…

The curtains weren’t drawn over the closed window, which he crept over to and tentatively opened. He growled, exerting a bit more force to get the slide to budge. At last, he managed to heave it up and push the panes outward, opening the room to fresh air for the first time in what was likely months. It was dusty, as a whole, but not stale. The poisoner opened cupboards and closets, bureaus and boxes, making sure everything was where he remembered it. Things, memories, came back to him and eventually he acknowledged that nothing was amiss.

The cat curled up upon the edge of the bed, and with weariness he had been ignoring for a while, Creejak too sat upon the blankets, slouching forward and going completely still.

[Searlait]

She could feel the hot blush creep over her cheeks as Briand's fingers ever-so-gently caressed the underside of her wrist, the touch lingering just longer than propriety called for, until at last he released her hand. Her fall of a few moments prior no longer seemed relevant, the embarrassment her clumsiness had caused burned away by the intense, physical awareness that the simple brush of his skin had inspired. Unable to tear her focus away, she found herself staring down at his hand, lips slightly parted, breath somewhat halting and heavy.

"Are you alright?"

Those three simple words sliced through her trance-like state, her head jerking upwards almost at once, new humiliation blossoming within her as she realized she had been caught staring. Incapable of rattling off anything even resembling an apology, her lips quivered for a moment as she desperately sought for words, any words to respond with, before she ultimately blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"What? Um, I'm sorry. I didn't hear what you said."

"I asked if you were alright. You...fell just a few moments ago."

There was a smile hidden behind his response, though no trace of it even began to touch the corners of his mouth. His expression remained earnest, tinged with concern, for which she dearly thanked him. If he had laughed at her, or drawn attention to her rudeness, she might have died on the spot.

"Oh, well, I'm fine. Perhaps a bruised knee, but nothing too unbearable."

Her voice sounded much too shaky to her own ears, the words drawn out as she stumbled over the half-hearted answer. Feeling all at once incredibly self-conscience, her attention slid downward, until she found herself staring at the toes of her slippers, just barely visible beneath the hem of her orange robes.

"Searlait."

There was something pleasant in the way he pronounced her name, lingering over the syllables. Something calming, and yet persuasive. Hesitantly, she looked back up, her gaze finally meeting his own. A mistake, to be certain, for once there, all she could do was admire the deep hazel of his eyes, eyes that always seemed to reflect intelligence and good humor.

"Yes?" She finally asked softly, acknowledging that he had spoken.

"I wanted you to actually look at me. I'd like to think I make a more interesting study than the floor." Briand smiled at her then, at last, making her feel as though she might come completely undone.

"Yes." She acknowledged, her voice scarcely louder than a whisper. "Yes, much more interesting." She couldn't stop staring at his mouth. He seemed to have a similar idea, for all at once her eyes were falling shut, and his lips were just barely touching her own, before too quickly the sensation was gone, fleeing as if it had never been. Slowly, lingering in the glow of the moment, her eyes slid open....and she screamed.

Blood streamed over Briand's pale face, leaking from the corners of his eyes, from his nostrils, his mouth. She took a step back, and then another, shock holding her frozen, unable to react. At last, she raised her hand up to her lips, before hesitantly moving it away. Warm blood coated her finger tips, and for a second time, her scream cut through the silence...

Searlait suddenly awoke, bolting upright in her small bed, still mid-scream. Terrified, she hastily threw the the blankets aside, panicking briefly as her legs got caught in the fabric. Escaping at last, her bare feet found the cold ground of her apartment, the feeling a stark relief as traces of the nightmare still lingered in her consciousness. Fleeing her bed, she was across the room and out in the hall within the blink of an eye, the door slamming shut behind her. She put her back to it, slowly sliding down to the hard floor, her breath coming in a mixture of gasps and sobs.

It took Searlait a few moments to convince herself that the wetness on her face was tears, and not the blood of a former lover. This did little in the way of helping her to calm down, however, as her heart continued to thunder in her chest, and all she could think about were Briand's once lovely, hazel eyes, smeared with red.

[Creejak]

Rest; the very notion was so contenting and yet so very foreign to the murderer. At the same time, it presented a soft bout of irony, for why should he be able to rest at all, when he had caused such startlement, and general unhappiness all around? Always moving, always slinking, always winding like smoke caught in a breeze; yet all things must settle sometime, whether by exhaust or by that dreaded note of finality that struck all beings, or so it seemed. Still, death had not presented itself to him yet and, whether or not he had been desperate or just tired, the poisoner had offered himself up to the scythe. Neither fate nor faculty of mind had yet to be successful.

Slouched over, his nose dipping between his legs and further beyond his knees at the edge of the bed, Creejak’s eyes saw the shadows and leaping dust fields shift with the wind that blew in from the open window, though his mind did not register a single sight. Long ago, he had taught himself to sleep with one eye open, and seeing as at the present he had but one eye in working condition, it had gotten immensely easier in his later years. As no danger presented itself to him, he had no reason to tax his instincts for reaction, even as his body began to precariously slip forward in its relaxed state.

A scream, of all things, awoke him, not even torn from his throat. The noise ripped through the air sharply and ending just as abruptly as it had began. Hastily realizing he was about to hit the floor with all of his weight, the Grandmaster heaved himself up just in time to avoid a collision, instead drawing himself stiffly to his full height and sweeping to his door. Pressing an ear against the wood, he weighted with baited breath to make sure nothing was outside his room. Then, he cracked the door open and peered with a sharp eyes into the darkness.

The cat was standing behind him a few paces away, its body held in a casual stance while its eyes looked on expectantly at the human, who soon opened the door and slinked out like a shadow cast upon a wall by a passing lantern. The feline followed silently, presenting itself with far less caution than the human ahead of him.

The scream had been loud, Creejak acknowledged, though the tower made way for echoes to travel from all floors below, and knowing full well no one else had been in the Grandmaster’s tower, the poisoner rightly assumed the troubling noise had come from the student apartments beyond the winding staircase. He had been mildly surprised to note he had left the doors in the tower open, and closing them as he passed he made a mental note to make sure there was only two sets of footprints in the dusty staircase; his own, and the cats. Of course, no one had been awake yet to explore, though soon students would be arising when the sun finally made a reasonable height. Aquick glance outside a window told him that a few stars were still visible, though the glowing orb of gold was turning the morning into a very colourful picture.

His feet made whispers of noise upon the floor as he began attempting to reason where the scream had come from. It wasn’t that he felt compelled to help whoever had let forth such a noise of terror, but rather, Creejak was merely curious as to what could cause someone to let forth the horrified bellow. It had sounded, in his hazy, half-asleep mind, feminine as well, which only served to put a trace of urgency in his step should he miss the danger and its results.

Instincts and a finely-tuned sense of direction brought the poisoner around a sharp corner where, in the fading shadows, he made out the form of a huddling, slender figure halfway down the hall. Standing stalk still and listening intently, he even made out the faint noises of the panicked breaths and heaved choking that was very common in those who had been utterly terrified and possibly very hurt by something, generally someone. He stayed where he had stopped, close to the wall in what shadows remained, knowing his shape and silhouette would no doubt be visible as the time passed and hallways filled with light. Slouching, he made no effort to remove himself from the presence of the young women, instead examining her from a distance. She had just awoken, as was evident by her nightclothes and barefeet.

She’s going to get cold. The voice, arrogant in its scientifically all-knowing tone and yet strangely quiet as though thoughtful, flowed into his mind and the large cat came right up to his feet, eyeing the young lady down the hallway just as piercingly as the human was.

So what…it’s not my concern.

She’s upset.

...I know.

[Searlait]

'He's not dead.' She told herself repeatedly, those three simple words becoming her mantra over the course of the following few minutes. 'He's not dead.' One more desperate thought, a meager attempt to force herself to calm down. She sucked in another sharp breath, feeling as though the air had been choked from her lungs, stolen by the twisted images of her nightmare. Yes, her nightmare. Nothing but her imagination running wild, playing tricks. Briand wasn't dead. She had seen him in the hall on the day she had left the Priesthood behind and boarded her first ship.

Drawing her arm across her face, Searlait used the sleeve of her night shift to wipe away some of the tears still clinging to her cheeks and along her jawline. Her heart rate had finally begun to slow, though its pace remained much quicker than normal. At least her sobs had halted, and she no longer mistakenly thought herself to be back in Lamias. She knew where she sat, crumpled and disheveled, a sad figure sporting bare feet, a nightgown, and unkempt hair, pressed up against a door in the middle of the hallway. Still, as pitiful as she felt, she could not persuade herself to go back inside her room.

As sunlight began to filter in through the windows, she raised her gaze upward, taking in another ragged breath as she glanced towards one end of the hall. Nothing but empty space greeted her, a welcome sight. No doubt she had made quite a commotion. Angling a quick glance in the opposite direction, she did not expect to see anyone out and about. Due to this preconceived notion, it was quite a shock to her senses when she noticed the pair of shadowed figures just down the corridor, so much so that she literally did a double take.

With a gasp, her pulse once more leapt in to her throat. Struck by the sudden, terror-instilling awareness that she was not alone, Searlait instinctively pressed her back harder against the door, before her right hand shot upward, grabbing on to the door handle and using it to clumsily drag herself to her feet. Through out the entirety of this sloppy motion, she kept her eyes focused on the unknown shapes near the corner wall, too apprehensive to look away.

"Who's there?" She called out shakily, too frightened to determine how best to proceed. She could flee back to the supposed safety of her apartment and a closed door, however, she felt unready to face the confines of her room once more. The nightmare remained still too fresh, threatening to overwhelm her already fragile sense of well being, not to mention her perception of reality. So, instead of returning inside, she simply remained, gripping the doorknob tightly, waiting for these new phantoms to either leave or identify themselves. It was probably just another student, she tried to tell herself. Unfortunately, logic had already been thrown out the window a good while back, leaving in its wake a great deal of hurried, not to mention hysterical, conclusions.

[Creejak]

His body still, barely breathing, slouching lower and lower until he couldn’t crush himself any further, Creejak leaned heavily against the wall, eyes unblinking in much the manner of a hungry carnivore eyeing a potential prey with contemplative curiosity. His skull tilted on its neck when suddenly his cheek gave a very subtle spasm as the girl looked away from him, casting her features out of his already limited vision. When she turned back, however, a very low rumble reverberated deep in his chest, extinguishing quicker than a candle in a cold breeze when she most alarmingly noticed him. The corner of his mouth twitched slightly as he noted with some amount of sardonic pleasure that she hadn’t expect to see anyone and had been surprised to see him. Her voice was choked as she called to him shakily; she had been gasping, an action he knew well the consequences of. Absently, he inhaled deeply, trying to catch a whiff of salt water tears that perhaps stained her skin.

The light filled the void that was the hallway, and peeked around the corner at a most inconvenient time. He had hoped that the girl, whoever she was, would not notice him and he’d at least have been able to study her appearance just a touch longer before retreating back to his Noctis Campus quarters to gather his things and take his leave. Instead, he had slouched too far forward and the sun’s colour had hit him on his blind side, rendering him ignorant to the plight of nature to have his unfortunate features seen and his shadow stolen.

He sighed quietly through gritted teeth stained lightly from smoke and drink, and drew himself up to his full height, squaring his shoulders and shifting his weight to balance upon both of his feet. He took a step forward then, flinching from the light scourging from the window opposite of him, and quickly disappeared from the sun once again. His boot hit the floor while the blade strapped to the outside of the cracked leather glinted in a most unalarming way. He stopped, watching her scramble into an upright position and, once again, her borderline accusation ran through his head.

”Poisonclaw,” he answered very softly, his voice straining with agonizing effort to reach something above a whisper. Creejak took a few cautious steps towards the young girl, the cat staying where it sat while holding itself with an official posture, eyes glinting skeptically as the faintest trace of what was akin to a feline smile brushed its face. The man then suddenly swept forward, covering half the hallway’s distance in but a breath of a second, landing and once again becoming still as his cloak caught up with him and settled around his body. The sudden rush caused the bottles and phials clipped onto one of his belts to clink merrily together and against his filled scabbard. He leaned forward slightly to examine her closer with his narrowed, searching eyes, yet still maintained a good few feet of distance from her for his own safety; he had learned caution well in his years, and caution entailed never being too careful no matter how trivial someone appeared.

She was young, and by far. She hadn’t even fully developed yet, and her pretty face was indeed marred by the streaks of tearstains. She was a student, clearly. Only a child, or so he liked to think, would display such behaviors and be so unobservant about who was watching…and a woman, no less. Had she no idea where she was? Noctis was a place that would have inhabitants and peers only too happy to blackmail each other for any reason, even if only playfully so.

Glancing at the student’s door, he spotted no plaque to identify her, and realized she might not even be a student, but a visitor. He sneered thinly at the thought, once again tilting his head.

“Who are yeh?” Creejak breathed to her quietly in a tone suited more for musing than for a question, practically muttering his words through barely parted lips. It was too early for anyone to be up, let alone a lazy student. It was now very obvious to the poisoner, at least in his mind, that the girl had been the femenine voice that had screamed.

"Perhaps she has night terrors..." The words slithered out of his throat and stopped behind his teeth, much more subtle than his previous 'question' and yet still potent enough that, had he voiced himself more clearly, he would certainly have been more scientific about them.

[Searlait]

'Poisonclaw', she thought she'd heard the stranger murmur, though it was difficult to interpret with any real confidence. His voice happened to be low and light, and the space between them rather extensive. Still, if that was his answer, then what exactly did it reveal? A surname? A nickname? A mark of his trade? Poisonclaw. Whatever the response indicated, the connotations were likely to be negative, a fact that the already much distressed Searlait did not care for in the least.

As he slowly took a few steps forward, she could feel her body stiffen in response, nervous butterflies blossoming in her stomach. She was on the brink of requesting that he not come any closer when he suddenly seemed to burst forth, his pace quickening with an abruptness that startled her enough to cause her to lose her grip on the door handle. By the time he halted a few feet in front of her, her back was pressed with such force against the door that it was almost a wonder that it remained shut, and she still in the hallway.

Her body began to tremble as he stared at her so unabashedly, the small shaking motion turning her knees to water almost instantly. Before long, they threatened to give out entirely, fortunately, the door was, at this point, supporting most of her weight, and so she managed to remain upright, a small victory in and of itself. Little else could be said of her response, however, as she continued to lean there, staring at 'Poisonclaw' with a look of vacant terror, as if expecting him to pull a knife on her at any moment.

"S-Searlait..." She said almost at once, stumbling over her own name. The man spoke so quietly that she could barely make out a word that he uttered, however, she had somehow surmised that he wanted her to identify herself. She certainly wasn't about to put up any arguments at this point. She probably would have spilled her entire life's story if he had demanded it, that is, if she could manage to get the words out. At the moment, she seemed doomed to pauses and stutters.

"What...what do you want?" She managed to force out, following her first question with a second. "W-why were you watching me?" Panic put an edge in her voice not normally present, the words growing increasingly high pitched the longer she attempted to speak. Continuing to stare at him as if he had three heads, or might suddenly grow two extra, she waited for his next string of muttered words, all the while trying to prepare a plan of action if he decided to pull something unseemly instead of sticking to verbal communication.

[Creejak]

He hissed her name immediately after she said it, the syllables oozing off his tongue until there was nothing more to be breathed, and the man set his jaw with a click of teeth. His eyes narrowed into black slits upon his pale face, and he further angled his skull at a very odd degree to look down at her, ignoring the greasy curtain of black hair on either side of his face.

”Searlait who, I wonder…it’s not important…” he breathed quietly, choosing that moment to lean forward to tower over the quivering girl, his eyes slowly easing open as they roamed over her body in a less than amicable manner, finally concluding the journey of his gaze to rest upon her protruding chest. He clucked his tongue.

”Yer cold.”

He cocked his head, regarding her with a raised brow and a much more professional expression on his face. The way she was forcing her body against the door, the fear in her voice, the wide eyes all spoke of a terror he was very familiar with. People, creatures who thought they would soon loose their lives often exhibited similar behavior to what the girl was displaying. The poisoner let his eyes drift to a partially closed position, startlingly relaxed and perhaps too comfortable with Searlait’s fear, his disposition more so evident as his body relaxed and he let his weight shift to one foot. He was far too used to displays of fright in others; watching so many beings die had conditioned him to take comfort in the more ghastly emotions of others, a rather disturbing talent in both practice and the ease in which it was performed with.

“I want…” he began slowly, almost purring, “Ter know why I ‘eard screaming…rather, I want ter know what caused said scream at such a peculiar hour.” Creejak paused and inhaled deeply from his nose, closing his eyes and leaning back as though the momentum of the breath was building up, or even if he was trying to savour the scent of the girl. He backed away then, turning slightly to regard her with a raised brow and cocked head, his face becoming a deep frown.

“It was yew, I imagine, making the noise,” Creejak growled, his tone one of strong accusation, completely abandoning the former curiosity he had been compelled to follow. He moved his hand forward, fingers curled up like claws, to grab at her chin and force her face up yet he stopped halfway, bringing his digits into a fist to point at her instead. He almost smiled. The twisted look that dragged itself up onto his face was especially unpleasant as it was the closest thing he could muster to be slightly resembling of an amiable expression.

“What’s wrong, lass? Such a pretty wee thing shouldn’t be cryin’. Yeh can tell me what happened. Here,” he suddenly turned away and made a summoning motion with his hand, bringing it to pat lightly against his thigh. There was nothing at first, and then a large cat with dark tabby stripes and leopard spotted fur sauntered forth, ambling down the hallway and looking no more intimidating than an exceptionally fat puppy dog. The feline’s tail swished out behind it before rising in a friendly manner, curling itself about the man’s legs and wiping its cheeks and shoulders against the poisoner.

“Tomnas is quite the gentleman. Yeh can tell him if’n it ‘elps. He won’t say a word ter no one…trust me…” The last two words came out very hollow and creaky, like a door swinging on unoiled hinges.

[Searlait]

Searlait stared at the feline that so unexpectedly appeared, her lips trembling with her latest attempt at a reply. Her gaze drifted back up to Poisonclaw's face after a moment, the expression displayed there full of doubt, the look posing an uncertain question. 'Can you be trusted?' And even one step further: 'Does it really make a difference, one way or the other?' Fears burning flame slowly ebbed away, leaving the shaking girl all at once cold and alone with her resignation. Even her dreams were no longer her own. If her own subconscious had turned against her, what concern was another enemy lurking in a shadowed hallway?

"A nightmare." She murmured all at once, her stare dropping to the flooring beneath her bare feet. Resignation had made her no more eager to be there, or prepared to satisfy his unsettling inquiries. At least she had recovered a bit of her composure, allowing her to support a bit more of her own weight without relying so heavily upon the door at her back. It would have to be enough. She raised a hesitant hand to her face, wiping away some of the tears that persisted in dampening her skin.

"If my screaming woke you, you have my deepest apologies. It...it was certainly not my intent." She inhaled heavily, the breath catching in the back of her throat and producing a sound that seemed almost half-hiccup, half-sob. It was not a pleasant occurrence, the sound reminding her that she had been weeping openly not a few moments prior. Weeping in public was a vulnerability she could not afford to allow herself. She had too many weaknesses to put any of them on display.

She did not attempt to look Poisonclaw in the eye again, instead focusing all of her attention on the floor, the far wall, and occasionally the feline that brushed against his legs, an unexpected, almost surreal companion for so intimidating a figure. Perhaps the creature's presence was intended to confuse her, but, if that was the case, her thoughts were too muddled at present to even guess at the purpose. If this man intended her harm, she had already been caught in his web. He had her. Whether or not she walked away from this encounter unscathed was entirely up to him.

[Creejak]

((I suck, I suck, I suck, I knoooooooow....))

“A nightmare,” he repeated huskily the moment the word had escaped her lips, his breath swaying and causing his rendition of her confession to be almost sarcastically comforting, like an older sibling that just couldn’t bring himself to comfort the younger of the pair. His body sank down, crouching right beside her and leaned forward to completely overtake any sense of personal space she may have had left.

She apologized, and his skin rippled. She practically begged forgiveness; her words pouring out of her mouth before her own sense turned the valve and forced her to be silent, cutting of her breath as her throat gave a clenching noise. He crooned.

“Oh, no one means to do that,” he breathed, his voice a near purr, “Ever.” As f to punctuate his unbothered state of being, he went to give her a gentle pat on the head, instead passing her over at the last moment to scratch behind the large cat’s ears gently, eliciting a pleased gurgle from the feline beast.

”When I first came to Noctis,” Creejak immediately began to lie, fully intending to find out what the girl knew regarding the history of the clan she had elected to join.
Not clan.
Those no longer existed.
Damn it all.

The hiss sieved through his teeth like a rush of water through a sewer and he shuddered, trembling with a sense of momentary rage. He had no explanation for why thoughts of the old times, nostalgic times, had welled up inside his brain. Youthful days spent murdering for the sheer fun of it rather than practicality, and feelings of fierce loyalty that had long since died out had absolutely no place in him. He clucked his tongue and came back to the hallway, out of the old lands.

“When I first came to Noctis, I knew of many that could not sleep either.” He was sure to word his thought so as to remind her that he in fact had no trouble where she failed, enticing a feeling of defeat common in many younger beings. “Your dreams…why do you have them?”

The question was spoken very, very lightly, as though treading on shards of slivering glass. Her answer, and he fully intended to get one out of her, would hopefully hint at or even fully tell him what her nightmares were about. He had no real care for her troubles or her sobbing, but the poisoner wanted her to spill her guts out voluntarily, and to realize just how unpleasant the life she had picked could be when one surrendered their self control. Maybe she’d learn something from the Noctis master, though Creejak doubted the child would take the lesson to heart.

“Tell me, pretty one, why let the thoughts in? Why not just…forget?”

He breathed on her, subtly, and the cat crawled into Searlait’s lap, laying itself fully on her and becoming quite silent while its eyes focused on hers.

[Searlait]

It had grown increasingly difficult not to flinch nearly every time Poisonclaw spoke. There existed a terrible unpleasantness in his tone, an unsettling quality that accomplished little more than further setting her on edge. She wondered briefly if such a response were the intended purpose. The answer to this question seemed obvious enough.

Searlait did flinch back against the door as his hand suddenly drew close, sweeping past her at the last moment in favor of the feline. Her eyes jerked upward to meet his gaze, the expression a study of fear, accusation, and even a bit of indignation. She had started to guess at his game, at least she supposed she had, and did not take kindly to being startled and intimidated. Unfortunately, dread and paranoia still transformed her will power to water. She simply could not find the back bone to attempt to send him away, or to retreat to the haunting and lonely confines of her room. This did not stop her from ignoring his questions, however, nor countering them with a halting inquiry of her own.

"How...how long have you been with Noctis?"

The words came out breathy and quiet, the syllables forced, representing a weak attempt to turn the focus from herself. She could not confess to a great deal of legitimate curiosity about the male crouching before her, threatening her with slimy concern and inappropriate closeness. There was no denying that he, like herself, was a member of Noctis. There was also no denying that he truly belonged within these halls, more so than she ever would. Yet, here they both lingered, 'bonded' by affiliation...and separated by it. She tried to recall her conversation with Mercra when she had joined. Noctis represented the needs of the individual, not the group. She eyed her intimidator. What did he want? More importantly, what was it that Poinsonclaw needed? This train of thought sent a shudder down her spine, like the caress of an icy hand.

She glanced downward as the cat settled in her lap, somehow distrusting the companion of the man so intent in knowing the fears that plagued her nights, and in inspiring new fears for her mornings. Still, her hand moved to stroke the back of the creature's head, her own gaze meeting the feline's silent stare. Tomnas seemed to need something of her to, though she prayed that it might be more pleasant in nature. She had played with a few of the neighbors' cats when she was small. All they seemed to require was a bit of petting, praise, and attention. Somehow she doubted that this feline would have fit in to her childhood memories.

After a moment, she returned her attention to Poisonclaw. Whatever he wanted from her, whatever he desired, she would not give it to him. More importantly, she would not breath a word as to the substance of her dreams each night. She refused to relinquish the source of her terror so that it could be twisted against her.

[Creejak]

((I apologize. I know I take forever to reply, but I'm a busy person...more so than I want to be. And, naturally, with other interests, writing has to take second priority. ...plus my computer died and I had to fix it.
Aheh.
However, as rusty as this is, I post!))

His face immediately broke into a wickedly curved sneer when he heard her question, somewhat happy that she was resisting him at least somewhat. Perhaps, although as simpering as she came across as, she still had some metal to her mind, regardless of her current state. However, uninterested in why she was weak, Creejak merely held up his hand and rolled it on his wrist, lifting a finger and then another and another, putting them down, and not really giving her a particular number.

“Forever,” he replied simply, suddenly leaning back and standing up over her, leaning heavily against the doors and reaching into his vest for something. Producing a fresh roll of tobacco, he bit it between his teeth and merely began to chew it, seemingly uninteresting in lighting it. “Quite literally, forever,” he repeated, and then shrugged as though it was something very trivial. He continued chewing, the paper becoming slowly soggy until it broke and he ended up spitting it to the side, raising a lip in disgust as though he wasn't the one who had so nonchalantly thrown the roll upon the floor.

“Tomnas,” the man suddenly snapped, a harsh, angry tone, and the cat looked up, blinking wearily at the human whose posture had quickly become rigid and offensive. “He's been here that long, as well.”
Once the cat was sure it was not being hailed, it went back to rubbing itself upon the girl, kneading her legs with his large paws, careless of the tips of his claws poking from his toes. It then settled, curling up and heaving a contented sigh, nuzzling into the crooks of the young woman's knees.

“If you won't tell me,” Creejak began again, his body once more becoming very slinky and loose, far more relaxed than a mere moment prior, “I won't ask again.” He smiled down at her, an eerie gentleness to his face, and once again reached into his vest. However, this time, his hand traveled down against his body, and once his stroke was finished, his fingers rested upon his hip, clasping onto a lithe, shining bottle as long as his crooked finger. He pulled it from its clip upon his belt and it came free with a quiet scathing noise, before rolling it in his palm, careful not to let it drop.

“This little friend,” he whispered, more to himself than to the girl, “May help you.”

The liquid inside the phial was completely black, though betrayed its own impure colour by glowing a dark purple around the edges when it made contact with the glass.

“Here,” he offered it to her, still smiling with a curiousity that was left unanswered, “It helps you abandon your dreams.”

[Searlait]

Each of Poisonclaw's movements presented Searlait with a new obstacle. Nervous butterflies fluttered to life within her stomach as he lifted, counted, and then dropped his fingers, this simple motion seeming somehow more dangerous in its simplicity, as if it presented a greater threat due its supposed innocence. However, this reaction paled in comparison to that which she experienced when he slowly reached a hand into his vest. The beating of her heart abtruptly screamed to a halt, gripped by an icy hand of terror that chilled her blood and left her frozen in cutting expectation. And just as quickly as it had originated, the moment passed, expressed by an exhalation of breath, and a gentle hand placed flat against her chest, as if she might somehow provide her own comfort. More tears pricked her eyes as her cheeks grew warm with the full force of her foolishness, coupled with a very exact realization of her desperate situation.

She had missed the majority of his speech during her brief episode, catching only a snatch of 'Tomnas' and something about 'abandoning dreams.' However, as she gazed upward at the man who insisted on towering over her, it did seem to dawn on her that he was offering her something. More specifically, he offered her a solution to one of her great hindrances, in the form of a rather ominous looking liquid, the likes of which she did not recall ever laying eyes upon before. Warily, she examined the foreign substance, before returning her stare to his face, her eyes shining.

"Are you trying to poison me?"

Several emotions could be found in that simple question: suspicion, desperation, resignation, and the overwhelming fear of what his response might reveal. Yet, despite her quavering words, the smallest glimmer of hope might be read within the lines of her face, the tilt of her mouth, or the look in her eye, waiting to flare up and burst forth at the slightest provocation. She wanted his answer to be no. And more than anything, she needed this to be the solution to her problems.

[Creejak]

((As per usual...I'M A LOOSER!))

“Trying to poison you?! Not at all!”

It was more playfully said than how insulted he was feeling. Regardless that he knew he shouldn't have been surprised, the man couldn't help but feel a little wounded. Here he was, being extremely charming, offering help to a scared, misplaced young woman in a place where help was rarely if ever offered, and she assumed he was trying to kill her!

Oh, get over yourself, you great windbag...

“Shut up, you!” Creejak snapped, pointing a claw-like finger at the cat, who merely meowed and looked at the girl with a slightly tilted head, eyes wide with startlement and feline innocence. Sighing, the poisoner merely placed the small bottle on the ground before the girl, heaving as he straightened back up as though the effort were simply too much. He stayed still for a moment, a hand stretched voer his chest and fingertips just grazing his body, his mind seemingly lost in its own place. When he came back, he was glowering once again, a very displeased look on his face to match the way his body curled forward to slouch unhappily.

“If I wanted you dead, Tomnas would have smothered you already. It's a lot less messy than me slitting your throat. Just as quiet, mind you...” he said quietly, trailing off with a inquisitive look. His eyes stared at her for a moment, a brow raised in lucid thought. He chuckled, though, and leaned back.

“Searlait. Searlait, Searlait...”he repeated her name like a mantra, tapping his chin and looking from the young woman to the cat, back and forth a few times until he shrugged.

“I haven't gotten any notice of your induction into Noctis. Naturally, Mercra's way of attempting to elicit a sense of curiousity.” He turned away hastily, deciding to conclude their little encounter, only to whirl around again.

“What do yeh do?” He sniffed. “Here. Yer job.” The crack his voice often carried after waking was long since gone, and with it the sense of pretense. He needn't oblige her by carrying on the charade; his voice was anything but classy. Maybe she'd feel more at ease if he spoke the way his accent should have been all that time.

[Searlait]

Searlait flinched back against the door as the strange man shouted at the cat. She stared down at Tomnas with her own startled expression, before warily returning her gaze to Poisonclaw with a look that suggested that she was terrified at the idea of what form his next random outburst might take. This sense of terrified apprehension wasn't disappointed as he moved onto his next observation, which caused her to spend the next few moments visualizing herself being smothered to death by the friendly feline currently sharing her resting place. An odd and unpleasant thought, one that she quickly tried to shake off.

Relief washed over her as he turned to leave, apparently having lost interest in the circumstances that had brought them both to the hallway this morning. So caught off guard, she nearly jumped out of her skin as he twirled back around to face her. She did in fact jump suddenly to her feet, rather unceremoniously dislodging Tomnas from his previous lounging position on her lap. She shot him an apologetic look, but could not tear her attention away from Poisonclaw long enough to experience any lasting concern for the feline's sense of well being.

"I, um," she stumbled over the words needed to respond to his question, distracted by the change in his intensity and manner of speaking, "I am supposed to be st-tudying with Malyka and Mercra...I am, well, a priestess...I heal people?" Her voice quavered with a nervous uncertainty as to whether she should reveal anything to this man, mixed with a sense of foreboding as to what might happen if she attempted to refuse him. Either way, she hoped that she had answered his question in a satisfactory manner, and that his curiosity in her regard might soon grow cold. Her gaze dropped briefly to the small bottle he had placed at her feet, as she made the decision not to touch the concoction until he had gone from her doorstep.