03.01.09 - Quite The Feeling

Location: A slave ship, somewhere off the western coast

Characters Involved: Harper, Darcy, Crow, ratspoofs

They aren't the only slaves; maybe half a dozen others are present as well, not the full capacity of the cages in the back of the ship's hold. Darcy has been put in one cage, Harper in the other, though they're next to each other and share a barred wall. At about head-height in the side of the hull is a porthole window and the doe is on her tiptoes to look out of it, with Crow tucked against her back in the sling, snoozing exhaustedly after their capture last night. Her fingers drum against the wall to either side of the window.

It is safe to say that Harper hasn't been in the best of moods these past hours since their capture. It's safe to say he also hasn't slept. He is leaning with his back to the bar-wall that they share, head resting back. They've talked and talked and talked, mostly in circles, and at the moment they are silent.

Darcy's scut gives little anxious twitches, and she cranes her head a little, making a noise of frustration. "Harp... Harp I can see the mountain." The ship is pretty far out but the coastline is visible, and there's Salamandastron - tiny.

"Headed toward or away?" Harper's head turns to the side, towards her voice, but he doesn't look around.

"Past. We're just going past it," Darcy responds with a shake of her head. "It's.. little. We're far away but it's.. it's right there. Like I could pick it up in my hands." Her fingers clench.

"Don't, Darce." Harper's eyes close. "Don't do that to yourself."

Darcy's tongue flicks across her lips, and she takes a breath. "... I've just. Never seen it before."

That is not a pleasant feeling, there, in the pit of his stomach. "I'm sorry."

She should stop looking, maybe, but she doesn't. Darce's muzzle rests against the side of the window, eyes locked on the little triangular shape. "For what."

"For this." Harper sighs, his head bumping very lightly into the bars behind his head.

"It's not like you /planned/ for us to get caught," Darce mutters. "I'm the one who was all, 'oh, oh, let's go take a /walk/'."

"I should've-" Harper's teeth grit. He shakes his head. Never mind. They can go back and forth on whose fault it is, but to what purpose? He'll have his guilt and she'll have hers. "There's still hope that we c'n convince them that the Abbey will pay for our return."

Darcy angles her muzzle a little toward him, brows lifting. "Yeah, but /will/ they? Pay to get us back. I'm not even part of the Order."

Harper finally glances around at Darcy. "What else c'n we do?"

Darcy shrugs. "Wait it out. Maybe try to escape when we get to land?"

Harper turns back-to Darcy, again. He doesn't want her to see the look in his eye. "I don't want you or Crow gettin' hurt."

Darcy steps to the barred wall that separates them, hand slipping through, resting on Harper's back. "We'll figure it out. We're cargo .. they're going to sell us. We need to get away before they sell us to different people.."

Harper's paw comes around, finding hers. He squeezes, but doesn't say anything for a moment. Got to get himself under control. "... Yeah," he finally manages, and that's all he can manage. His other paw has closed into a fist, clawtips digging into his palm.

Darcy's fingers press at his. She steps nearer to the bars, and there's enough space for her to nudge her muzzle between two of them, against Harper's back. "We'll be okay.."

Another squeeze to her paw. He nods, mutely, not trusting himself to say anything that will be calm or reasonable.

Darcy sighs out a slow breath, eyes shut. "Hey, mister.. you want to sing to me?"

No. He wants to scream. "... Sure, Darce. What kind of song?"

Darcy shrugs minutely. "Something.. far-off. I don't know. Make me forget we're shoved in dank little cells in the belly of a ship on our way to being sold as slaves."

Harper thinks for a good long time. At a certain point it might seem like his not going to sing at all, but then he does. His head tilts back and he looks ceilingward. His voice is soft, melodic. "Never knew... I could feel like this. Like I've... never seen the sky before. Want to vanish inside your kiss... every day I love you more and more." His eyes close and his voice swells a little bit, "Listen to my heart, can you hear it sing? Telling me to give you everything. Seasons may change, winter to spring... But I love you, until the end of time." He is briefly silent before continuing, "Come what may. Come what may, I will love you... until my dying day."

Darcy's eyes are shut, and with the bars between them she leans into the buck, saying nothing, her ears folded backward and one of them giving a little flicker at the end of Harper's song. Finally she mumbles, "Dork."

Harper's muzzle twitches in a faint smile. "Well, there's more, but if it's too dorky I'll just keep it to myself." He squeezes her paw.

"Mm. No. Dorky is good," Darcy mutters, smiling also. Her eyes crack open, thumb brushing his palm. "Or.. yeah. Heh. Keep going, mister."

That's /right/ dorky is good. Harper's smile grows and he gives her paw another squeeze. And when he starts singing again, it is softly and only for her to hear. "Suddenly the world seems such a perfect place, suddenly it moves with such a perfect grace. Suddenly, my life doesn't /seem/ such a waste... It all revolves around you." Harper reaches, pulls her paw through the bars so he can kiss it and wrap it around his waist, paw resting across hers. "And there's no mountain too high, no river too wide, sing out this song and I'll be there by your side. Storm clouds may gather, and stars may collide... but I love you, until the end... of... time." And /that/ is it. More or less. He stops singing, anyway.

Darcy stays quiet. The song did what it was supposed to - she was transported, a little. It takes a little while coming back and then her eyes flicker open, hand curling against Harper's hip, fingers cinched in the fabric of his shirt. "Your choice of song is as appropriate as ever.."

"I've got a million of 'em," Harper says with a small smile. He twines his fingers with hers. "Darcy, I promise you. It's going to be okay. Don't worry. It's... it'll work out." And he sounds a little more sure than he did before.

"I know, mister," Darcy murmurs, shutting her eyes. "We'll be okay. I just /really/.. really want this to be over."

"When this is all over, and once we're back at the Abbey... I am going to make you breakfast in bed for a week. I am going to carry you around on my back all day long and... do all your chores and take all your shifts and just... you are going to do nothing. You're just going to relax." Harper's fingers curl, tightening his hold on her paw. "Relax and relax and relax."

"Mmf," is Darcy's response. "You know that'd drive me crazy. Doing nothing. As it is if we /ever/ get to the mountain.. I am going to just. Volunteer all my time in the infirmary. I swear. I have had a taste of adventure." She tugs his hand. "And you know /what/? It is bleedin' awful. I hate adventure. Hate it. Every /good/ thing on this I have either ruined or had ruined for me." Grump. They're captives on a slaveship, she's allowed to be grumpy.

"... Dancing was nice," Harper points out. "I liked that." Harper's voice is very soft. "And... you know. /We/ came out of this trip. Us. I... guess that puts it right up there, for me."

"Mm," she concedes, narrowing her eyes at the buck, and a smirk flicks across the doe's muzzle. "Fair enough. I'm not enough sure /when/ that happened. Sometime between the spiders and the .. hamsters. I expect you to write a /detailed/ recording of this little epic, by the way."

"... I was working on it. But I somehow don't think they'll be giving me my papers back," Harper smiles. Good that he's able to find the funny, eh? "But I will. A nice epic. A nice, long epic."

"What're you going to call it?" Darcy asks. "It has to be something.. really good. Perfect. An epic title for an epic story."

"I... don't usually title things. Just date them." Harper smirks, ears twitching Darcy's way.

"... well humor me. If you /were/ going to title it. What would the title be?" Darcy asks. It's conversation; they're more relaxed now, right?

"Ummmmm. What would you title it?" Harper turns it around.

"You can't answer a question with a question," Darcy quips at him, with a light smack of her hand into his bicep. "That's cheating." She grins. "How about something dorky like 'How I Fell In Love'? ... though for you it would be like, the third edition or something."

"... I'm your first love?" That's kind of daunting. Harper gets sidetracked.

Darcy lifts her brows. "'course not. My first love is berry-flavored vodka. My /second/ love is Harper Sutton the molting bookworm."

Huh. "I'm sorry." Haha. Harper is so nice to himself.

Darcy amends this with a little mutter, "No .. vodka, then valerian, /then/ the molting bookworm."

Harper just grunts his displeasure at this addition.

Darcy grins, and leans in, muzzle ducked between the bars - though Harper's a few inches too far for her to kiss him. Boo. "What, you'd rather me have a line of guys before you? I'd think you'd like being the first."

"No. No, I can't say I would," Harper admits with a snort. And then there's a noise over their heads. He glances upward.

"See. Like I said. Besides it's not like.." Darcy stops, ears angling up and forward. Except for having food shoved at them they've been left alone by their captors - but there's someone coming now. Her head ducks and the fur on her nape prickles.

Harper keeps a firm hold of her paw. "They're probably just coming to check on us," he reassures. Somewhere, a door opens.

"Of course. That's what vermin do," Darcy mutters dryly, fingers kneading against his palm. "They smile and wave at us through the bars of /cages/.."

"I didn't say they were coming to check if we wanted some tea," Harper murmurs softly. Footfalls down a long hallway.

"Mff," Darcy mumbles in reply. Another door opens and someone enters the cargo hold where they and the other slaves are being kept.

And there's an odd burning smell. Two smaller beasts are entering behind the first, though they are obscured by the first. They're carrying something between them, out at arm's length.

Darcy's hand tugs free of Harper's to adjust Crow's sling, tucking the kitten behind her protectively, out of sight. ".. what is that." Her voice is a scratchy whisper.

Harper has an idea, but. "... I don't know." He sounds. It's hard to say how he sounds. The first beast stops in front of their cell door. The other pair trail behind. They're carrying some sort of a metal pan with a lid. It is smoking.

One of the doe's hands grips a bar, fingers fisting around it. "Tell me that's .. stew. They like us so much they're bringing hot stew."

Harper doesn't say anything. He does, however, start to stand.

Darcy's instinct is to stay as small as possible - but she rises as well. The sling is slipped off and she leaves Crow snoozing in the corner, discreetly tucked under the cloth of it. Her back presses to the wall.

"Everyone t'the backa the cell... save /you/," and the rat leading this particular show eyes Harp. He fits a key into the lock that opens his cell while withdrawing something from the inside of his jacket. It it a dark metal rod, with a handle on one end and an elongated 'x' on the other. He gestures the other pair forward. They open the lid of the container and set it on the ground. Red coals smoke inside of it. The 'x' end of the rod is stuck in this. Suffice to say? No one comes forward, least of all Harper. His paw grips the metal bars behind him, while all of the other slaves eyes are on him.

No, definitely not stew. Darcy grits her teeth, eyes squeezed shut for a moment. When Harper doesn't come forward one of the rats moves inside the cell - a big guy, larger than the buck, who goes to grab Harper by the arm and yank him forward.

Harper is a fairly normal creature. When it comes to the sights that he is seeing and what they suggest about his future moments, he is understandably hesitant to comply. Which is to say that when the rat grabs for his arm, Harper delivers a roundhouse punch to his head. He feels something give way in the knuckle region, but it's worth it. Back /off/. His lips draw back, almost ferally in his disgust and offense.

"/'ey/!" the rat-in-charge snaps, and the second of the two that came with him enters the cell as well. The others in there cringe backward. The big rat is punched and sees stars, stumbling back, but gets ahold of Harper and, after a moment, pummels his fist toward the buck's stomach. "Get /off/ him!" Darcy snaps helplessly, hands slamming into the bars. They don't give an inch under her sudden fury though.

Well, Harper didn't expect the punch to /stop/ the rat. In fact, what happens is about what he expected. He's just delaying the inevitable. The paw sinks into his the soft organy parts of his stomach and he doubles over the punch with a grunt. The breath has been knocked out of him. He is choking for air. Common sense would say to yield. But common sense would also say 'no burning hot metal on my flesh, thanks'. And so he charges into the rat, hoping to bowl them both over onto the wood floor.

The bigger rat is driven back, not onto the floor, but Harper's momentum slams him into the barred wall of the cell next to the open door. The rodent hisses, hands clenching on Harper's shirt, wrenching at him. "Pin 'im!" the leader of the three snaps, and a moment later the last, who has just grabbed up the metal lid of the container of coal, brings this around in a blow aimed at the back of Harper's head, trying to subdue him.

Oh. Oh, /hey/. And it has the added bonus of being hot! Fortunately they're not pressing it against his head, just hitting him with it. He is in the midst of getting in what hits he can when the lid strikes. And everything goes gray. Harper staggers to his knees. And if he wasn't so distracted he might find himself a moment to think, 'Hey, buttheads in the cell with me - a little help?' But hey, they're all too terrified to move. Sorry, dude.

Meanwhile Darcy is giving her hands a beating, one gripping a bar, the other slamming into the one next to it, repeatedly, which does nothing at all to get to Harper or help him. While the buck is dazed from the head blow, the rat in charge of this happy endeavor pulls the metal rod from the coals. The end of it glows reddish orange from the heat. The big rat treats Harper rather roughly - the buck just /attacked/ him, remember? Harper is cuffed in the face for good measure and one arm is twisted back, the other pulled out and the sleeve pushed up to bare his forearm.

Well, there goes the plumbing. Blood flows freely from his nose and the hit doesn't help him with the dazed. His head sags forward and he is all but slumped save for the arms keeping him up.

Harper's arm is twisted, and the brand is pressed against the inside of forearm. There's a sizzling noise and the distinct smell of flesh and fur burning.

/That/ brings him around. The muscles in his arm lock and his fingers splay. His head throws back and he screams, and it echoes reboundingly off the cargo hold's walls.

Darcy shakes the bars with all the strength and vigor she can muster, and it does nothing. Her ears flatten and she about chokes on a noise of upset, almost a sob, sinking down, leaning against the barred wall with her eyes squeezed shut. As Harper bellows the brand is held there, his flesh searing, then pulled away and the buck is shoved backward, away from the cell door, which is closed and locked again.

Harper is tumbled into the middle of the cell floor, where he slowly curls. That is quite the feeling, isn't it?

"Harp," Darce murmurs, leaning. She's on her knees, muzzle pressing through the bars, shoulders a little quivery.

Harper slowly rolls facedown... then pushes himself up onto his knees and one arm. His head hangs, blood dripping from his sprung nose. He doesn't say anything. Meanwhile, the trio have moved on. Moved on and over to Darcy's cell door. The metal pan is stirred, to get it nice and hot again, and the rod goes back to sit in the coals, eliciting another sizzle as what remained on the brand burns off. The key fits into the lock, turns. Their eyes are on Darcy, now, and they are angry.

"Harp?" Darcy watches him with a look of unease, fingers flexing against the bars where her hands are still curled. Her head lifts, turns, eyes on the trio of rats outside her cell as they open the door.

They're not messing around, this time. The assistants come forward and each go for one of Darcy's arms while the rat pulls the rod out of the pan.

Darcy resists, of course she does. She jerks back, trying to keep free of that hold, twisting and kicking out, her small form going rigid and prickled over with anger and adrenaline. "Nn! No! Get off!"

While the rats open the door, Crow remains tucked in his corner, not exactly ready for another round with other vermin at this point. He's not asleep, just still and uncertain. It is only when they go for Darcy though that the feline stirs. He has fluffed up again, sitting up and with his tail swatting against the floor. Hiss. Though the toddler looks angry he is too scared at this point to try to help but his eyes go for the opened door.

Harper lifts his head, to watch. He crawls to the edge of the cell, reaching his arm through the bars. Not that it does any good. The one to the right of her strikes out in in a flash, punching her across the face. "Shut /up/! Doesn't she even shut /up/?"

Darcy chokes and gasps out, sagging, her weight held up by the grip on her arms. Blood runs from her nose over her mouth and chin, and her hands turn to fists, feet scraping the floor for some sort off purchase to help her jerk again, and again, twisting, lashing out for another kick while a low gutteral sort of growl starts in the back of her throat.

That's okay, Darcy, they were looking for an excuse. So if she's going to struggle and kick, they're going to throw her to the ground and start kicking her. In the stomach, in the side, in the back, whatever they can get ahold of. The rat with the brand leans in the doorway, eyes resting thoughtfully on the hissing toddler. Hm. "Cute kid," he smirks.

When they begin to attack the downed doe, the toddler's attention swivels in that direction quickly - both ears perking up high off of his head. He gives an apprehensive mewing sound before going to shove up from his corner finally, hand against the wall to keep him balanced for a second. Crow seems ready to charge in but doesn't, yowling unhappily.

Darcy hits the floor with a grunt and curls up immediately, hands coming up, over her head, protecting it while she gets into a fetal position - not that it does much against the kicking. Each blow landed brings out an involuntary noise of pain.

Somewhere in all this Harper has crawled over. And his arm snakes through and he gets a paw on the scruff of Crow's neck. "... Crow. No." Harper's voice is hardly a whisper. But he has no desire to see Crow be beaten, too. His eyes are on Darcy's form. "... Stop. Stop it. /Stop/ it!" Well, whatever, they're not precisely listening to /him/, but the rat comes forward, then, swinging the cell door closed behind him. The rats glance up from their working-over of the doe and then immediately are yanking her up, one arm twisting behind her with the other extended, forearm up.

Darcy is not fully conscious, shaking, her small form crumpled but then hauled up, though it sags and she gives a shaky note of discomfort at the continued rough treatment. Maybe fighting was not a good idea? Both hands curl to fists, muzzle bloody, breath coming short.

A spit of an angry hiss escapes Crow when his scruff is captured out of nowhere, the babe trying to turn on the buck who has gotten a hold of him with teeth showing. Before any clawing damage can be done to the hare, though, the feline realizes it's Harper and then he whimpers out an unhappy noise while staying close to the bars with the hold that his surrogate father has on him.

The rat doesn't give Darcy any time to think about the benefits and disadvantages of self-defense, because the brand is pressed firmly against her forearm. The time it took them to kick her into submission was long enough for the brand to cool somewhat, so the rat holds it there for longer, to make sure it does the job.

Darcy shrieks. Her body jerks and writhes in an instinctive attempt to escape the ongoing burn of the brand, hot metal searing through her fur and several layers down into the flesh of her arm.

Harper's eyes close and his teeth grit. His arm slips around Crow, his scruff released, in a semi-hug. "Don't watch, Crow. Don't watch."

It doesn't seem like Crow can help but watch. His green eyes are locked onto the rats and doe as the branding iron is forced full-on into the inner portion of her forearm. The smell of burning fur and flesh has his nostrils flaring for a second as his eyes widen and then the toddler goes to turn for the bars, starting to climb quickly up along them and out of Harper's partial embrace. His fur is bristled up completely along his spine and neck like an extended mohawk or mane of some sort.

When the brand is finally pulled free of her arm Darcy is released, and sags to her knees, one hand catching against the floor, the injured arm curling in against her chest as it throbs.

Harper's eyes have followed Crow upward, but he's also stuck staring at Darcy. So he's torn. He's also torn by the fact he wants to beat that rat's face in. Of course, in the end, he can just sit there.

The largest rat just steps over Darcy, toward Crow, while the one with the brand sets it back in the hot coals, down underneath where they're glowing. The big one reaches up toward the kitten to get ahold of him and pry him away from the bars.

Crow tugs himself up along the bars like a squirrel, though his tail happens to be far too long for his own good and would be within reach of the large rat that comes for the toddler. "No! No!" The toddler tries to get higher while jerking his tail off to the side to try to get it away from the rodent's hand. "'Ahpah! 'Ahpah!" Sadly enough, the way that the child says Harper just happens to sound a good amount like 'papa'.

The big rat lunges up and grabs the kitten, by the tail, and gives him a yank to get Crow off the bars and down into his hold. Immediately he aims to get ahold of Crow's little arms, holding him by these, dangling and away from his body.

Oh, the breaking. Harper rises, gripping the bars with both paws. "Crow, it's all righ'. It's all righ'. It'll... it'll only hurt for a little while. It'll. Only for a little while, little guy..." His knuckles are turning white beneath his fur.

The little cat is already breaking into tears - even before the rat decides to yank him down by his long tail. He feels a pop and he is viciously wrenched from the bars to fall into the vermin's awaiting grasp. A screech of pain is offered as his tail bristles out completely and then he begins to kick and thrash even as he is held out away from the rodent at arm's length. Crow's hands have balled into fists and he is flailing. "Nonono! No!! 'Ahpah!! 'Ahpah 'elp! 'Elp!" He is starting to wail brokenly.

Darcy is still on her knees, then sags from there to the side, back to the wall, shoulders hitching. She's actually crying, soundlessly, from the pain of it. ".. nnh, no, not Crow," she mutters, and grits her teeth.

The brand is pulled from the coals again, bright and hot, and while the big rat holds Crow by the arms, the other rucks up his shirt in the back to his neck. The 'x' is pressed right between the struggling kitten's shoulder blades.

Harper's eyes flinch closed as the brand is pressed between Crow's shoulder blades. A single tear slips down his cheek. "... Sh. Shh-sh-shh, it's okay..." Sure it is.

Feeling the heat coming in closer before it even connects, the little tom begins flinching and squirming before hand, then he tenses up when the brand is pressed firmly between his shoulder blades. Crow screeches like he is being skinned, shaking viciously with pain while clenching his fists and curling his legs in instinctively. Little fangs show as he wails, snout curled in something of an agonized snarl while he trembles, beginning to sag helplessly after a second as the pain gets to his young body. Sure it's okay.. it's all fine and dandy.

Darcy reaches, and drags herself upright with the help of a bar. The brand on her arm is starting to blister. The doe steps forward, pushing at the rat with the brand, snatching at the rod of it to try to pull it away from Crow's shuddering form. "Leave him be!!" There are tears streaked on either side of her muzzle.

Pah! Who is she kidding? The other pair are on her in a flash, dragging her back and /throwing/ her into the wall. "Don't /move/!"

Darcy's back meets the bars, and then in a whip-lash effect the back of her head collides with one of them as well. She releases a 'hrk' noise and drops to the floor.

This is, of course, a perfect opportunity to deliver another kick to her abdomen.

The brand meanwhile is shoved into Crow's back, longer than it would have been. Yeah, that's right, parental figures, watch the kid /squirm/. Finally it's jerked away and the rat sort of tosses Crow down to the floor, then the trio finally leave, going out of that cell and locking the door behind them.

Crow is sobbing in sharp, rapidly breaths through his nostrils and mouth when his shrieking trails off, body giving jerks of pain as he is burned in this manner. Still it is an instinctive motion cause the stressed babe has begun to pass out and he doesn't fight even after the iron is yanked away from his flesh. Being tossed to the floor means he crumples like a broken doll and doesn't move.

And Harper is immediately on his knees and reaching through the bars. Reeeach. His fingers splay, but. But Crow is just out of his reach. His paw falls to the floor, fingers curling inward. A sob rips from his chest and he hangs his head.

"Nnh," is all the hardly-conscious doe has to contribute.

Crow seems to have given up for now. It's all too much for a babe to handle, especially when he shouldn't even be away from his mother at this point. Silence.