✧˖° 𝖔𝖓𝖈𝖊 𝖚𝖕𝖔𝖓 𝖆 𝖋𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖆𝖘𝖞 °˖✧ 𝔟𝔲𝔫𝔫𝑦♡𝔭𝔦𝔵𝔢𝔩.

[Bunny]

The feeling of eyes on her should have been a new sensation, for Farren tried to be invisible. That was her whole goal in life, to be unseen and to make it through one day to the next. Some might find that goal to be unusual; who wanted to go about life unseen? No one wanted to fade into the background, to be unassuming or even better yet, forgotten. Not without a good reason and Farren felt like it was people who had the same sort of trauma plaguing their lives that wanted to hide from the world and be forgotten. It took a lot to break a soul, but it wasn't impossible and sometimes, it wasn't even hard. For example, Farren had never even had a chance. Her mother had been a nobody who had found her stepfather out of necessity rather than love. When she died, leaving her unwanted to him, he had little choice but to rear the girl. Bare minimum would have been a generous phrasing for the life he'd offered her.

Farren, you see, was one of those children that had plagued the ER, slipping in and out of temporary foster homes before being sent back to her "reformed" father. A joke at best as this reformation never lasted a month. Then she was back to being beaten. It was a small miracle, if one could call this hell such, that she hadn't been sexually abused. Too small, too skinny for most of her adolescence she had looked more like a boy than a girl. Perhaps that had saved her? It wasn't like Frank, "call me Frankie", had morals. At least... none that Farren could garner. It was from Frankie that she learned the benefit of being invisible. If they didn't see you and you didn't bother them, it was less likely you'd be beaten. That philosophy had gotten her through her formative years and upon graduating high school, Farren had fled the hell hole she'd called home and struck out on her own.

College had never been on the books for her. It cost money and she couldn't afford it. Yeah, there were programs to help but a life of being in and out of the system had given Farren a healthy dose of distrust in the government and the idea of owing anyone anything made her skin crawl. No... it was best to have no one, even if it meant she had nothing. At some point within the first year out of Frankie's house and with Farren working three jobs, she began to take on a more feminine softness, even if it was just at the edges. That slow climb to pull herself out of the shadows that had been left on her hadn't lasted long. There is a saying that we fall for our fathers... When Farren met Derick he had been the picture of charm. He would come in on the graveyard shift while she worked at the dinner and chat her up, keep her company... In time something grew between the pair and he moved into her shoddy one bedroom apartment.

But like all things in her life it wasn't going to be a fairytale ending...

The abuses started small. A backhand here... a slap there. But much like Frankie, Derick had a temper that she couldn't temper and couldn't avoid. Black eyes, broken arms... bruises that lined her small body. This one was harder to escape. He had known all about Frankie, Farren had told him.. And he knew she would run given the chance, so he limited those chances. Men watched her, followed her.. all under Derick's pay. What Derick did, Farren never knew, but her suspicion was something far less than legal. So this was her life now and as she walked down a dark alleyway, she tried to shake the feeling of eyes on her. They watched her, made sure she wouldn't run. Little did they know the light that flicked in her soul was slowly going out. Her will to live vanishing.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆​

Her deep red hair was tied loosely at the nape of her neck, tendrils falling about her face as she walked down the alleyway. Behind her, she could hear the city life puttering along. Even at this ungodly hour, the city didn't sleep. It had never bothered her and Farren found that when the sound went, that it caused her to feel uneasy. Lifting a hand she wiped at the sweat that beaded on her forehead. Summer in the city was sweltering, even at one am. Grimacing some, she winced and a low hiss issued from her lips. Her split lip reopened and Farren could taste blood again. The metallic tang filling her mouth was not new and for a moment, Farren wondered what it was like to go through life without hurting. Without getting pitying gazes from people who wouldn't ask questions and wouldn't offer help. Those eyes bore into her back and Farren fought the urge to run around, to roll her shoulders. The latter would just hurt like hell.. her pale skin dotted in healing bruises... The former? Well why bring attention to the fact she knew they were there?

Inhaling, she held her breath for a moment, counting backward from ten before exhaling. She was too much of a coward to take her own life, even though that will to live barely hung on by a thread. He'd kill her, some day. Derick. He'd get away with it and her body would be dumped in a trashcan or a ditch and she would truly fade then. Really obtain her goal of being invisible. Unseen, unheard in life and death. Stepping through the fencing she made her way through an abandoned park, the slight breeze hot against her face, filled with the reek of the city in summer. Whoever was following her wasn't being quiet now. Normally, they lingered far enough away to not draw attention to themselves. Maybe this one was new? A hand shoved between her shoulder blades and Farren let out a soft cry of pain and shock as she stumbled forward. Turning, she caught a fist to her jaw. Already unstable she fell backwards hard, her head hitting the pavement of the cracked sidewalk with a resounding thud. Black spots danced in her vision as she heard a foreign language. The woman's voice was guttural and as Farren tried to stand a booted foot caught her in her ribs. A cry left her lips as something broke and she curled into a ball. Was this from Derick? If not.. where where those assholes that watched her? Derick wasn't fond of sharing his playthings... That also meant their pain.

Coughing she rose to her knees as her assailant backed up. Wheezing softly with a hand on her side, Farren got to her feet unsteadily. Whatever she expected to find, the woman before her wasn't it. She was tall, not taller... just tall. Granted Farren was a wisp of a female, barely standing four eleven... this woman toward over her.. She had be be taller than Derick. Her skin tone, even in the dim halo of streetlights, seemed human, but there was something about how she was built that messed with Farren. Maybe.. it had been the fall and her head hitting the pavement. maybe her vision... was blurry? Even as she tried desperately to rationalize what she saw, Farren knew it was wrong. The woman.. the thing? It had teeth almost like a boar that came over its bottom lip. That at least explained the voice.. Her ears were pointed and while her skin seemed a soft bronze in tone, it was pebbled like that of a frog or a dinosaur. "What the hell..." Her voice, unlike her attacker's, was soft, husky and almost too sweet for the life she had led. Sugary even.. Blinking furiously she backed away from the woman slowly as she advanced. "I don't have any money!" Is that what she wanted.. money? Another rough, guttural string of words before the woman slugged her hard in the stomach. Farren had taken enough beatings to know at least one rib was broken as her body groaned in agony. Stumbling again she caught herself on the brick of a building, skinning her bare palm.

Around them, Farren could see the flicker of lights. She was unsure if it was real or if her vision was going. They seemed to shimmer and dance. The woman before her cursed and Farren lifted a hand, bemused in a halo of pain to try and touch one of the flickering lights.. "Pretty..." the word was slow, almost lazy and very distant to her own ears. There was a feeling like she was floating and the sky and city around her vanished. Head swimming Farren pulled her free hand away from where the light had been.. It had vanished just before the stomach rolling sensation had hit her and the city had disappeared. Her knees hit solid ground and her body screamed in protest as she doubled over and emptied her stomach onto the floor. Spots danced in her vision again and she swayed uneasily on her hands and knees. Somewhere near her, she heard the woman roar in furry and there was movement coming at her quickly. Closing her eyes, Farren could only brace herself for the next blow.

 

[pixel.]

​

​

The girl wouldn’t feel a next blow. Not unless being tossed over the shoulder of a man who was not the orc-thing that was, in turn, being manhandled by the slip of a woman who barked obscenities while kicking the back of the tall creature’s knee until a sickening crack caused the female to howl her pain to the night sky before dropping. It made her easier to restrain and, thus crippled, easier to take into custody.

“How did I wind up with this big gal and you just get the sack of potatoes there?” The feminine voice that filtered through the air towards the man that shifted his weight, adjusting the diminutive redhead on his shoulder, had the same amount of punch as the way she had hit the orc-woman previously.

“You hit harder,” came the masculine reply, colored with wry amusement. Eyes that might have been green or blue slid from the dark haired woman that was currently pushing their target forward to the girl he had slung over his shoulder. “Or dirtier. The fae here was a bonus to our original target anyway. Who do you think we should bring her to? Pryce or Fi?”

“Pryce,” came the response, no hesitation in the woman’s voice. “That’s where Olga here is going anyway. He’ll know what to do with both anyway.”

With a shrug, the dark haired woman gave the orc female another swift kick to her shins, hard enough that the creature grunted, sprouting a stream of guttural curses in a language that sounded too sci-fi to belong on this plane of existence before begrudgingly moving forward as she was pushed. The man with the redhead still draped over his shoulder followed suit, until they had wound their way out of the alleyway and towards a dark sedan parked askew on the side of the road. A pair of cuffs were slapped on the orc-woman’s wrists before she was shoved into the back of the car, the dark haired woman following behind her with a thumbs up tossed to the man as she crawled into the seat. He rolled his eyes, opening the passenger side door and easing the girl into the seat before shutting it and sliding into the driver’s side, his eyes falling briefly on all three of the others before he put the car into drive, heading to the closest way point to their current location.

New York City was a big city, but whoever had designed it had kept the street layouts simple, using numbers and a grid system to help keep track of where everything was. Located between Central Park and Harlem, The Corner Bar passed under the radar of many tourists who preferred the comfort of a Hard Rock Cafe to what appeared to be a shitty dive in a more questionable side of the city, while also still generating enough traffic to keep up appearances.

There were two sides on a coin. To the human eye, one walked through the door with its chipped red paint and graffiti coloring the concrete on one side and where at least a couple of homeless liked to lounge and beg for cash or a beer - whichever came first before they were chased away - they found themselves in a hole in the wall dive, complete with worn out pool table and tables sticky from spilled drinks.

To anyone else … well. That depended on its proprietor’s mood and the location of the way station welcome parties were coming from. When the two hunters strode through the door with its chipped red paint, both nodding to the two men singing with their beers held high that hung out in the alleyway right beside, someone had decided that a Cheers theme fit their current mood for the evening. Eighties nostalgia at its finest, though it was missing its laugh, clap, and misc. Audience noises track when the door shuttered closed behind the pair. Or, really, the foursome, though the orc-woman had started putting up more of a fight the closer they got. As if she could sense her little vacation stay that included munching on bones was coming to a premature end.

Nim - the dark haired woman - even got an elbow in her face for her troubles. Which, no doubt, would become a black eye before the night was through. Isaac, the man that accompanied her, had to drop the girl - rudely, actually - on the polished cherry wood floors of the bar to help his associate as the orc made a scramble towards the door after breaking free, howling her fright and turning more than a few heads from those enjoying a drink or five inside.

None of them human. Some of them looked human enough. Others weren’t doing a very good job hiding their less than pleasant realities. One - guy? - had tentacles on … let’s go with their so not to assume gender … face that wriggled down into the pint of frothy beer, slurping it up like a multitude of straws while another creature with a goat’s head turned and bleated at them through red slitted eyes.

“Really?” The voice pulled away from the rumble of the crowd inside, taking up more space with that one question than the entirety of noise in the whole of the establishment. And while astutely masculine and more than a little amused, that question mark at the end of the single word was like a crack of lightning at the end of a rumble of thunder. And it struck the ass of the orc-woman who, for better or worse, had reached the door and yanked on the handle like she was about to let herself out.

It was a shame the door wasn’t opening for her. But she was at least providing in house entertainment to her onlookers at the moment, a couple of which approached the bar where he stood behind. Pouring them. They were paying patrons, after all. Perhaps having live shows was a good idea. On top of drink specials, he could provide popcorn.

“OK, fine, don’t stay for a drink.” The orc-woman had turned away from the door, roared her disdain at the rest of the room, and whirled back around when no one tried to stop or even come at her to try the door handle again. A brief expression of surprise flickered across her face when it swung open. And before she had a chance to think - not that her kind did much of that anyhow - let alone change her mind, Nim stepped forward and gave her a little push of encouragement that sent her stumbling through, slamming the door in her face right after.

It hadn’t been a doorway back out into New York, that was for sure.

“Mmm… right then. Show’s over, folks. Nim, please come back here and do your actual job. I only sent you out there because the report showed had words like bone crunching and pulverize and mass hospitalization on it. That was … more anti-climatic than I thought it would be. Now, what’s that?” Him again, but his voice wasn’t carrying quite the same oomph as it had been just a moment ago. Turned down the volume, especially when Nim’s impish smile followed her as she flitted behind the bar in response to his rag waving.

Isaac, for his part, took his own hint and stepped out of the way to find himself a chair to slouch in as the man behind the bar stepped out from behind it, tossing his rag aside on the polished wood countertops. Mahogany, from the looks. One of the TVs set up around the place flickered as the scene changed, the muffled laugh track kicking in as the episode of Cheers played.

Unlike the fairer man who had stepped away, the bartender was darker. Swarthy complexion made that much more by the dark stubble that was closer to a beard than your standard five o’ clock shadow, and a matching set of deep set eyes that gleamed with gold and umber under the ambiance of the bar as they shifted focus on their second catch of the evening. Where Isaac had been more on the gangly side of fit, the bartender had more of a solid build. Or perhaps he only seemed that way because of his height.

Or just presence.

Looking at him straight on, he looked normal. Unimposing, even friendly with the way his mouth slid askance in a crooked sort of smile. The shock of dark brown hair was tousled, stylishly so, and the faded gray tee wrapped around his chest, accompanied by a pair of jeans his hands slid into the front pockets of, made him seem like just a guy. Until one looked at him off to the side in their peripheral vision. He seemed to fill more space that way, too large even for the room.

Trick of the light.

“Think she’s a fairy the orc wanted to munch on for a midnight snack,” Isaac supplied, helpfully or not, from where he had taken up residence in a booth.​

 

[Bunny]

Gasping, she frowned. The blow hadn't landed. Something... else had happened. Someone.. had picked her up like a sack of potatoes and tossed her over their shoulder. Her body had screamed at this treatment, but no noise had left her lips as she clutched the back of his shirt. No, Farren was trying to hard to breath through her mouth, in slow, steady breaths as a wave of nausea hit her. Whoever held her across their shoulders wouldn't want her to throw up on them and more than her head was eager for that pain. So in and out as odd sounds came from behind her. Man. A man held her, the voice had rumbled against her chest as he spoke and she closed her eyes tightly. Head swimming Farren was sure she'd heard the word fae, but brushed it off as she'd missed something. Fae were not real. They were a myth and dirty stories. Some of which even Farren had read at some point.

The movement of him walking made her groan in protest, her eyes screwing tightly shut so she didn't have to watch his feet and the sidewalk slip past her with his easy gait. Laid gently inside a car, her eyes opened a fraction and for the first time she was able to get a good view of him and his companion. It didn't help anything and she closed her eyes as the car started. A small part of Farren said she should demand to know who they were, where they were taking her. One small problem, Farren still wasn't sure if she opened her mouth, she wouldn't throw up. Every part of her hurt so every pothole or turn made her body rock and that pain screamed through her. At some point Farren had to wonder if she blacked out with how quickly they arrived.... wherever they were. Frowning slightly she was pulled form the car, almost cradled in large arms. Squirming slightly in his arms she pushed at his chest weakly and once she was quite sure she wouldn't be sick she said, "Put me down.." As they entered the bar.

He seemed unwilling to listen to her as she was carried past the threshold. Still squirming as the woman who had attacked her began to freak in truth and she was dropped unceremoniously on the hardwood floor. A cry left her as pain shot up her tailbone and her spine. The sound was swallowed by the gentle hum of the bar, that sound only ending with the rich timber that cut through the noise like butter. The room around them fell silent and her eyes moved to the woman trying to escape out of a door that seemed unwilling to open. The roar of sound made Farren flinch and she pulled away from the woman, though not anywhere close to her. She could still feel her foot against her ribs, the ache a constant reminder of the abuse.

The woman was pushed through the darkened door that didn't look much like the streets of New York beyond. She said nothing though as the door was closed with a soft click. Frowning still at the door she heard the voice behind her, speaking to someone else. What is that. Farren didn't know it was her to which he referred until a pair of feet swam into her view. Slowly she tilted her head back, spots swimming in her vision. Something.. About him seemed off, though she couldn't quite understand what it was. He was large, built like a wall.. but he looked more or less human and she shifted on the floor uneasily as she gazed up at him.

Her golden eyes flickered to the man who spoke and that frown on her pretty, if not bruised face deepened. Fairy. Orc. Shaking her head some, she stopped mid motion, turning a delicate shade of green. Eyes closing tightly, her small hands curled into fists. One. Two. Three... counting slowly to ten she shifted, rising unsteadily to her feet. While magical things were far outside of her normal scope, though Farren struggled to believe that was even true, she was used to the beatings, the pain and all she wanted was a stiff drink.. a hot bath and some Tylenol. "Look, I am not sure why the brute kidnapped me... I don't.. much care. I just.. want to go home.." Those… those words were a lie. Farren didn't want to go home. She couldn't be able to explain what had happened to her and that would only serve to piss Derick off. Which would likely earn her another beating.

She just... wanted to leave. Not the room, not the bar. Not the city. Life. Her body and soul ached and she wanted to see the next life maybe, after a long rest. If such a thing existed. Looking down at the floor that she'd risen from she fought the tears that threatened to fall. She was just so damned tired. The first tear slipped free, unbidden from her lashes and trailed down her cheek. She couldn't... She wouldn't cry. Dashing at the tear with a balled fist as another fell... Damn it all.

"Please.."

 

[pixel.]

There was no need to put on more of a show than they already had. Not when the girl looked scared enough that she might try and jump out of her own skin and crawl between the cracks in the wooden floor beneath their feet. As it was, Pryce hesitated to step any closer to the waif that pulled herself to her feet out of uncertainty that she would open his magic door before he could close the distance between them and wind up somewhere she’d be eaten. Worse. A fire realm where she would be incinerated before she could even draw a single breath.

His nostrils flared as his dark gaze, flecked with copper and embers, narrowed in on the bruises that bloomed on her skin. At the raw-bone thinness and resolution of bad times ahead that emanated from her stance, her almost not there form. He smelled the acrid bite of her fear from across the room and the copper acuteness of blood that had dried longer ago than her scuffle with the orc woman sent back home. So, he could open the door, drop her into fae, and let the Courts deal with their stray in their own way.

Or . . .

“Nope,” was all he said, flippantly even, when her lips trembled and her voice warbled with her plea. Long strides took him alongside her and his finger curled like a mitt around her upper arm, using his grip to swing her head of him, and chasing the movement by putting his own two feet forward to march them both towards the back of the pub, and where his own steps would catch the back of her calves if she resisted or stumbled. He kept his strides short regardless, mindful of their height discrepancy, and her own weaknesses. And despite his solid grasp on her arm, he was also gentle. Using it more as a way to steer her than try and push and drag her along.

Only to release her just like that as soon as he pushed open an unmarked door that could have been a closet or something else, and which turned out to be what passed to be his office. It swung shut behind him with a clash and protest from the hinges, leaving Pryce to move away, swinging around to the business side of an old oak desk. Without glancing at her, he dropped his weight down into a leather chair, its seat creaking underneath his weight. His elbows followed, propped up on top of the desk, fingers steepled thoughtfully as he leaned forward. That was when he dragged his eyes up from her thighs to her face, analyzing what he saw and storing it away for later.

“Sit,” he commanded, his head nodding towards one of the two other chairs in the office. Spindly and not really there for comfort. “Or not. You just look like you might fall over at any second. We’re going to have a chat, you and I.”

He smiled in a way that could have been friendly. It might even have been. Except his mouth stretched too wide if someone looked at him directly and that was filled with sharp teeth. … Neither of which were really there by the next blink or shift in perspective. With the way he inclined his head, sharpening the lines of his face in his cheek and line of his jaw and lengthening the cast of other features, the man looked both feral and boyish in one breath. Ancient in the next, especially in the wet and dark obsidian that played in the depths of his eyes, while the light from the lamp that may or not have been there all along made it seem like his stare was made of tar, and its light was just the flames lighting their surface on fire.

“You don’t want to go home,” he observed. Casually. A little too much, perhaps. Pryce even leaned back, the chair creaking with the movement, one leg crossing to rest across his thigh and his hands retreating to rest on the armrests as he continued to regard her. Only that ancient thing had retreated, leaving only a bearded man, rugged with the beard on his face, and a concerned smile on his mouth that folded the corners of his eyes into empathy. “And you also owe me a debt now, for saving you. Because otherwise your bones would be munched while that orc woman turned you into her midnight snack. Thoughts?” ​

 

[Bunny]

Conundrum that he might have faced was unknown to the female ring slowly to her feet. Her plea fell on deaf ears as the response, gruff and off the cuff as he moved top her. For how large the man was, he moved agilely and was upon her before she could even run. A hand closed around her upper arm and while there was an insistent pressure that propelled her forward didn't hurt. Though he gave her very little choice as his legs brushed up against hers and the solid wall of his frame pushed against her back. At first, she had tried to resist, he was a complete stranger and she'd been abducted... But that little flame in her sputtered and she stopped. It was too much effort to resist. So she allowed the brute of a man to push her forward to a dark door with very little resistance, as if she had already accepted whatever fate lay behind that dark door.

Inside, the door closed with a firm click and she looked to him as he moved around to the other side of a large desk. He flopped into the leather seat gracefully and she watched him with uneasy eyes. Another singular word and she frowned some at him as she glanced at the chair in question. It didn't look like it would be particularly comfortable.. and yet she moved to take a seat. He wasn't wrong, but sitting didn't make her body feel any better as she shifted slightly trying to find a position that didn't hurt her bruised tailbone. "A.. chat?" It didn't seem like she had much choice, but she couldn't stop herself from questioning it. A small part of her mind warned her against speaking up... No one in her life liked it, it often resulted in pain if they were in a foul mood.

Her brows narrowed as he smiled and she shook her head, as if trying to loosen something. Had.. she seen sharp teeth? Shaking her head again she bit back a groan as pain arched along her head from the movement. She was debating if she would be sick once more when he spoke. There wasn't a question in his words, it was a statement. Looking at him uneasily she said, "Yes I do." There was no real conviction in her tone though. Home was a hell scape and she was only still there because she hadn't been able to get away from the latest of her demons. The creak of his chair made her jump some and the soft concerned look.. the empathy made her want to bristle. "A debt?" Her voice rose a fraction. "Orc??" Closing her eyes Farren took a slow deep breath. "Orcs are not real. I was kidnapped.. I owe you nothing."

It felt like this was some sort of weird joke. Maybe they were... fanatic cosplayers or LARPers? It was the only explanation other than they were fucking with her for the fun of it. She couldn't understand why anyone would want to mess with a stranger and yet here they were. Farren didn't allow herself to even consider the possibility of Orcs being real or that the woman had wanted to eat her... It just didn't make sense. Orcs were the stuff of fairytales, fantasy novels and online mmos... They were not real. "They are not real," the words repeated firmly and she met his eyes stubbornly. "Do you work for Derick?" This seemed to come to her out of the blue... "If he wants me scared and needing a hospital the job is done. Let me go home..." Though for the life of her she couldn't understand why he'd outsource such work, when he loved using her as his personal punching bag whenever the mood struck.

 

[pixel.]

His eyes saw more than what this girl was saying. The way she shifted on the chair. The way her features flinched. The bruises, old and new, easy to decipher which ones had been caused by her scuffle with the orc and those that were caused by … other means. The fact that she was too thin; not due because biology kept her waifish and small, but because she was malnourished. During his silent investigation, where dark eyes roamed with precise efficiency, he gave nothing of what he was thinking about what he saw on his face. At one point, restless as he was still in all its dichotomy, his hands rose from where they rested on his chair to cross across his broad chest, though his elbow crooked and an idle finger played at the curve of his upper lip as he considered her.

“You owe me a debt because it was my people who made sure you were just roughed up a bit and not … worse. But something tells me you already know worse. Tell me, do you enjoy being the victim in your story?” His voice was soft as it posed the question, wondering out loud, though it might have felt like he was aiming something sharp and pointed where she was soft with how he directed the words her way. “Tell me, sincerely, that you want to go back to … where you’re being kept keen and I’ll dismiss your debt and you can walk out of here and back to your life.”

He was being sincere. That much was in the cadence of his voice. The fact that he lowered his hands again and curled his fingers around the armrests. As much as he lounged back in the chair, however, there was a tenseness in his posture. Expectation written across his face that tightened up the corners of his mouth, turning his expression grim. Slowly, he shook his head. His eyes were wandering again. “Nn.. you don’t know what you are,” he decided, murmuring the words to himself. “Changeling? Exile?”

“Do you know who your parents are?” He spoke up, indicating that this question was meant for her, while ignoring her protests that they aren’t real. That part almost made him, but Pryce kept his expression still. Stoic. Watchful. Like she was a scared little bunny about to run back into the jaws of a wolf, while he the jackal was waiting for her to hop right into another kind of trap.
​

“And I don’t work for this Derick. Boyfriend? Ex? Stalker? Boss?” He watched her face more than paid attention to her words, to see which one was a trigger point for this girl. Because having a fae girl be dumped into his place who didn't know that she was a fae girl was likely the biggest mystery that had been dropped into his lap for ... a longer amount of time than he cared to consider. “How old are you?”

 

[Bunny]

Being easily read would have been uncomfortable in most cases but she was unaware of just how much of an open book she was. At how he could read the marks on her skin, the way she moved and even spoke, telling him far more than she would have been comfortable with. This wasn't the sorta thing someone shared... It wasn't as if Farren enjoyed being a victim. Breaking free though wasn't as done. There was also something about the way that those who were meant to help looked at her. That sort of pity mingled with contempt. How could she allow this to happen to her, poor thing. There were unseen questions behind their eyes, that probed at the most painful parts of her life without a care for the sort of memories it brought up. Something was fundamentally broken with her, but where had it broken? They must know. They must figure out why. Damn the consequences and how she felt as they riffled through her past and her pain like it was reality TV.

Her hands in her lap tightened into one tight ball and she lifted her chin, glaring at the man before her. It wasn't harsh, but that tone and those words made her lift her chin in defiance. "Do you enjoy casually kicking puppies in your spare time?" This was fired back far less soft than his own words had been. No one enjoyed being a victim. Though when he asked her to answer him, truthfully at that, she knew she didn't want to go back. One hell was as good as another, right? Would she really trade one sort of prison for another? She was still trying to decide how to answer him when he said the words changeling, exile. A frown drew between her brows and she hissed. "Not like it is any of your business, no." Her father had been an unknown and her mother had died long before she had learned anything of her.

The first word made her eyes shift to the side, looking away from him for a moment. Sighing softly she lifted her eyes to him once more. "I am nineteen.." Or was it twenty? She honestly didn't know. It wasn't like she celebrated her birthday. She hadn't celebrated anything in a very long time. Weariness clung to her like a cozy second skin. Inhaling through her nose she squared her shoulders. "Look, I don't know what you think I owe you, but I can pay you back if you give me time.." She didn't need any more trouble in her life than she already had. Derick would be pissed whenever she did get home... if she did. The thought of the beating that would happen made her already aching body groan in protest and she shifted on the seat again. Her eyes met his once more and in a small voice she said, "And no.. I don't like being a victim. But it isn't so easy to break free. No one wants to live the life I live. Yet, it is the only life I have. Most people who look at me the way you did," she exhaled and shook her head, "The way you do, mean well. I get that, but meaning well doesn't fix shit."

Hopping down off the stool she put a hand on it, as the world swam. Head bent, she dug her nails into the wood and waited for a moment before saying. "Just tell me what you want and let me go.." Or don't. The words were whispered in her mind and perhaps from her lips. That will to live was flickering, the flame in real risk of sputtering out. To keep trying, to keep breathing, to keep moving. What was the point? She was so tired of it all. This night was weird as all get out and she wanted to get herself to a hospital and then home... Maybe though, he didn't know where she was and she could just walk away from Derick. Maybe this all was some sort of blessing. That bubble of hope, fragile as it was burst as soon as it had grown. He'd find her or she'd find someone else like him.... It seemed she was a magnet for bad shit.

 

[pixel.]

Despite that his features had settled into a non-expression of relative seriousness, that little defiant lurch of her chin and the words that sprung from her lips right along with it caused the man’s face to split into another grin. Followed by a chuckle that rumbled in deep from his chest and left his mouth as he leaned back in his chair with an audible creak. His head and all its messy dark hair hit the seat back with the motion, and while the grin stayed in place, it did change from that brief spurt of amusement to something more wry. Especially as he pressed the heels of his palms against his closed eyes and groaned right after.

The kind of groan that office workers used when more paperwork was involved.

Lowering his hands back down to the armrests, he tilted his head back down and fixed her with a look that was a mixture of exasperation and resignation. “You aren’t even old enough to have a drink then, huh?” To take the edge off. Or … maybe that was just him. “You sure you aren’t at least twenty one?” Despite the fact that he followed a different law than what the humans had in place, well

… habits. And this was a bar. Always would be, no matter where they were or which doorway someone stepped through. The universal watering hole. Not to mention … nineteen, maybe twenty. In comparison to the likes of Pryce, this girl was a baby in the grand scheme of things. Or maybe he was just getting old.

Ha.

Regardless, the man pulled himself from his chair and took all of his restless energy with him, pacing on over to a cabinet that should have been used to store - I don’t know, ledgers - but instead held his own personal stash of spirits. The dark brown bottle he plucked from his stash was unstoppered, tipped back, a gulp taken with the bob of his throat. For a moment, he stood there holding the bottle like it was something to contemplate and not to drink.

Sighed.

Dark eyes rolled back to the diminutive girl sitting in a way that he imagined to be sad, maybe a little petulant, a lot of … someone who had given up with their own lot in life. “Fuck it, here.” Pryce started to take the two steps necessary to be able to offer her the bottle, hesitated, then reached down into his cabinet and plucked out a glass. Raised it up to the light to make sure that it was clean, then poured a thumbnail - his - sized amount of the liquid into it and offered that to her instead. “You might want this, because I’m about to break some news to you, sweetheart.”

Pryce dropped himself back into his chair, thumped the whole bottle next to him on top of the desk and slid the glass over to her. “Have you ever … thought you had done something … strange? Or actually did do something … strange?” He wasn’t asking the right question. He rolled his shoulders, looked up at the ceiling, then turned to stare at her again. Sharper than they should have been teeth chewed the inside of his cheek as he considered how to say what he needed to say. Then … “Have you ever experienced any kind of magic powers but didn’t know how to explain them? Because you are a fae; I can smell it on you. I just haven’t figured out if you’re a full blooded fae or a half breed that has been discarded in the mortal world. Either way, you belong to the Courts and their jurisdiction. Which …”

Yeah, he was taking another drink.

“... I don’t know what to do about right now.” His voice softened, trailed off, as he watched her leave her seat. Waver. “Except.” Fuck. The girl was in a worse way than Pryce had initially taken stock of. That much was evident with her pained movements, the near desolate look on her face. A growl rumbled, the frustration evident in the sound. Then he was up again and around the desk, hand underneath her arm and his other underneath her bottom to help set her back on the stool.

“Sit,” he commanded, voice gruff and eyes narrowed on her features. “Be intelligent,” he rumbled right after. “...And don’t actually try and move around. You’ve gotten the shit kicked out of you, and if I’m reading things right, not all of what I’m seeing is from your little scuffle tonight. You’re malnourished, I see old bruises - from Derick, I’m assuming? - and you look like you’re ready to just throw in the towel and accept your fate. So, sweetheart, you’ve got some choices. You can convince yourself that you’re just fine enough to leave and go … home-” Oh yes, the way he said home - and with a raised brow - suggested that the word was a farce. “Or you can drink something that’s not going to taste very good, but will make sure you’re not going to keel over and pass out. Then, we can talk more about what else we can do with you.”

His hands had lingered on her, but as if realizing that he might be crowding her, Pryce backed up a step, arms folding instead of dangling uselessly. “So if no one wants to live the life of a victim, what kind of life do they want to lead instead? That’s the real question you need to be asking yourself.” ​

 

[Bunny]

An absurd worry for his chair sprung to her mind as it creaked beneath him. It wasn't like the spindly chair upon which she perched, uneasy and uncomfortable. The rumble of his laugh at her feeble attempt at defiance didn't diminish that flicker of anger. Her life had never been pleasant but this was by far one of the worst days she'd ever had. Her body ached and she was all but trapped in a bar. That didn't really take into mind the beating or the kidnapping. Both only added to the oddness of the night. He seemed to drift from thought to thought without sharing with the class.

"No, I am not." her words were soft and yet clipped as she frowned at him. A brow arched and she wondered why the question followed. He rose and her eyes followed him, watching as he pulled a dark bottle from the shelf. Its glass was a deep brown color and the lights reflected from the glass warmly. She could make out a liquid within, swirling along the smooth interior. Fuck it. Here. The words made her head tilt and she watched as he paused and poured her a large glass of amber liquid. Politeness had her taking the offered cup, though the idea of drinking anything with her split lip or the empty nature of her stomach did not appeal. She did however sniff it warily as she looked up at him.

Break some news to her? Farren let the sweetheart slide, she wasn't really in the mood to argue with the small giant of a man. Taking a sip she hissed as the warm alcohol burned down her throat, a slight smirk on her lips. "Are you my Hagrid here to tell me I am a Wizard?" This was coming off oddly like Harry Potter and she snorted softly. In truth, what he was talking about didn't ring any bells. In the books Harry had done odd things, but Farren was far from magical. She'd never escaped a beating or regrown her hair from a horrible haircut. "Fae." That one word held scorn. "Smell it on me?" Her brows both lifted and that skepticism bare on her face.

The way he spoke made it easy to want to believe him, but this was just as weird as being beaten up by a strange woman to apparently be eaten. Rubbing her brow with her free hand she groaned softly and took another sip of the drink. She needed it just to make it through this even as she thought that she rose from her seat, uneasy, wanting to leave. He moved much quicker than she would have thought possible as he gently pushed her back into her seat. Settling again she frowned at him. That critical eye made her flinch and she averted her eyes from him, her fingers turning white as she gripped the drink. The golden eyes lifted to his face as he said the word home, most of that gold swallowed by the inky black of her pupil. Could whatever he tell her, have her drink be any worse that what awaited her at home.

The warmth of his hands left her and she frowned slightly at the sudden coldness that brushed her skin. Lifting the glass to her lips, as if trying to dismiss the slight regret at missing his warmth, she took a deep sip and shook her head some. "It is hard to dream when nothing comes of them." It sounded poetic, but it was more honest than flowery. She'd had dreams, had tried to escape.. But it always ended badly. She'd wanted to work with animals or flowers.. Vastly different fields, but they both made her happy. She'd wanted a quiet life, with someone to love her. Beyond that, she hadn't dared to even hope. The few things she'd wanted for herself hadn't been in the cards. Clearing her throat she looked up at him. "So, Hagrid. If I am fae, what are you? Part Giant?" Her eyes danced as she tried to joke.

Though her choice was clear. She didn't try and move off that damned uncomfortable seat once he'd stepped back. She lingered there, still nursing the drink he'd given her, trying her best to stay awake, attentive. Though Farren wanted nothing more than to close her eyes and sleep. Leaning back she let her eyes drift close for a moment. Fae, huh? That was a first, though she doubted it, no matter what Hagrid said. She wasn't a wizard or a fae. She had no magic.