A Universe Apart: Morte and Lily. ((Private))

Morte was tired of this cycle. He was never really found in public areas because it was too much of a risk, but today he'd he'd take the chance. He'd been needing something like this for ages, and it would make him safe in the open again - at least for the most part. So as he made his way carefully through the crowd, he tried to ignore the stares. They couldn't help but be curious. Here was a teenager covered in thick, baggy clothing in such hot weather, and where he was not covered by clothes he had bandages to cover his skin, including every inch of his face. He could see through them easily enough, but none of them knew that, which would only naturally add to their wonder, if it weren't already enough that he was covered in both fresh and dried blood. His own, of course. He knew he wouldn't die of it, or at least not any time soon.

It was actually later than he had expected when Morte was stopped. A burly man carrying a heavy metal tube was glaring down at Morte as if he didn't believe the boy had dared to do something to offend him. What it was he had done, exactly, Morte couldn't say for sure, but the man didn't seem to be eager to share. The man didn't even bother to verbalize his problem or warn the boy before swinging the pipe. Morte was very lucky to avoid being hit, but his opponent had been prepared for him to move away, and Morte was not in a position to avoid him when he grabbed the boy by the front of his top and dragged the teen toward himself. Morte groaned inwardly, but it was only moments later that Morte stood before the man's corpse, clearly the victor. Morte had been careful. He had not had enough of a fix to change, and he had definitely not had enough to change the man's body, but even still, he had done enough to kill him.

With a sigh, Morte spoke up. Now was as good a time as any to go about his business, as now he had a larger audience than ever before. They were no longer giving him passing glances, but many had stopped their actions in order to stare. Great. So much for avoiding attention. "I'm looking for someone to fill a position under my employ. You will take up residence with me, and act as a bodyguard of sorts. Keep others out of my way so that none end up like this poor soul-" He gestured tiredly to the lump of lifeless flesh, "-unless I explicitly ask you to leave my side for a temporary measure. Are there any who will accept?"

She had been sitting against the wall with her hands in her pockets... She got up and walked forward, her dark hair coverigng most of her face as she made her way forwards, people not bothering to move where moved... She was only about 5'5, and dressed in a shirt with long sleeves that went past her hands, with a sloping neck, as if been slashed diagonally, and a pair of worn out pants, no shoes, but metal covers over the tops and toes of her feet. A few of the bigger guys sniffed and said that theyd be up for the body guard position. She stood just behind one of em. "How bout we have a tournament of sorts, find out who should work for this guy. Huh?" she voiced up, her voice strong, but almost musical... and very threatening. the one eye that was visible through her hair was electric blue, her lips curved in an amused grin. "What say you, my bandages?" she asked Morte, moving inront of the big man... She wasnt afraid of him in the least...
The big man didnt take lightly to her comments and went to thump her a hard one, when she spun and what looked like punched him in the gut, but he froze, coughing... she pulled the needle blade out of his gut as he slumped over.

Morte did his own little equivalent of lifting an eyebrow. It would have been quite intriguing to see were his face not covered up. As it was, Morte shrugged, seeming disinterested in how his servant was chosen so long as they were good. "Whatever you please, miss. Though, please address me as Morte." It wasn't his real name... but it was fitting for him, and it reminded him of the only thing he remembered from before this place. His brother. A boy years older than him named after life itself, and true to the spirit of his title. He didn't know what had happened to his brother; only that he was alone now and all he could do was survive in this new Hell of a home. Get by without notice and live on... more or less.

She grinned "Lilys the name. Al who want to be Mortes bodyguard, get in the circle, all others back up or your gunna get hurt." she yelled as the crowd shuffled... a few big guys were in the circle made by the crowds... she cracked her knuckles, the needle blade hidden again. "Alright, lets rumble" she said as they started to fight, her dispatching them fairly quickly... She didnt kill them, just incapacitated them, her steel covered feet making exxcelent kicking strikes that knocked people out... After an hour or so, it was her standing in the middle, having just kicked a guy in the face down. She looked around "Any one else?" she asked, as if she were waiting for the next customerr at a nice shop

When it was finally over and no others stepped forward, Morte had to admit he was surprised. A girl had won in the end. Well, I'll be... "Lily, wasn't it? Well, then. It seems you've found yourself a job." The boy carefully checked his bandages for any that might be loose or falling away before offering a hand to the girl to shake on their new arrangement. "You'll be paid on a daily basis, whatever your going rate is. You'll just have to follow a few uncommon rules while under my employ, if that's all right."

She smiled "Cant be any worse then my last job, nor any more bizarre. You name the price, just make it worth my while, and feed me. Other then that, im yours." she didnt take his hand, but instead gave a smal bow, and a smile. she retracted the needle blades into her sleeves and shook them out so they covered her hands completely again. "So where to first?" she asked, looking her empoyer up and down... He was an odd one, but if he had the cash to keep her, shed stay... honestly though she was intrigued as to why he was so completely covered.... she didnt care enough to explore it herself, but shed bring it up at a later date...

Everyone that had been watching went about their business, stepping over the bodies on the ground

"Now we find a quiet place with few people and you give me a moment alone. Then we can get to know each other more properly and I can take off these ridiculously hot clothes when we get back to my place of residence. It would be good for you to get used to your quarters, as well..." Morte answered, thinking forward. Meeting with Malik would give him maybe a full twenty-four hours if there was a good haul today. "Come along, then."

Morte led the way through the crowd and out of the marketplace almost immediately. He was better at taking the back streets, and they were much faster for him to navigate by now. Malik was a slave merchant. He specialized in children and foreign women. Morte frequented him, but had never yet left with any slaves. Yet he always left with a lighter purse. Malik was not exactly fond of him as a person, but was very loyal to him as a customer, and what he did there was never spoken of, and never actually witnessed first hand. Usually Morte would not have gone to Malik unless he has important business, but now was an exception. He would like to properly say hello to his new guardian. Make a good impression.

It was not very large or gaudy place, but not nearly the same dungeon-like home most kept underground. Morte had never been able to give up the comfort of living in the air, and had taken a two floor home. Considering how long Morte had been living here, it was surprisingly empty. The one thing there wer plenty of in many different kinds were books. Other worlds, science, biology, time, space, fantasies and mythology, history and law. An odd collection for a boy Morte's age, to be sure, but hardly something to pick up on more than his appearance. By time Morte and Lily reached the teen's abode, Morte was itching to shred the bandages covering his skin, and once inside he peeled them away as if they burned, along with most of his layers. Underneath was a pale youth who looked as if he had not seen daylight in years - which may very well have been true if he always wore so much when he went out - with soulful, wide blue eyes and reddish-brown hair that fell in long tresses around his face when it came down from where it had been tied back. He threaded his fingers through some of it, holding it in front of his eyes and admiring it, as if he rarely saw it.

Bringing his attention back to the matter at hand, Morte spread his arms wide and welcomed his guest. "This is my home. Welcome."

She was taken aback by his appearance... And honestly was more understanding of why he would want protection... His home was cozy, better than the hovel she lived in, if she went there at all... it had a safe feel to it, which was different then any other place shed been... she actually might sleep for a night in her life... "...Thank you... So... why do you wear all those layers...? and where did you get all these books...?" she asked... her voice that had been threatening and harsh outside was actually softer here, the musical lilt in it more strong... she may have been good at singing at one poitn in time, if ever given the chance... She picked up a book from the top of the pile and flipped through it quickly, scan reading the pages as quickly as she fliped them...

"I was in the government for a while." The lies came easily after so long of practice, knowing that the questions would be asked one day and that he'd have to answer convincingly. Besides, most of it was true, if he didn't get too detailed. "Most of them are from my time there; I took them when I left. The area was completely destroyed, so they didn't notice... the others are things I collected out of the desire to read something less scientific. They were difficult to track down, but there are still places where people like me can thrive, it would appear. As for my clothing... well, being kept inside without any sunlight for three years has made my skin very sensitive." He held out his arms, scooping back the excess material of the sleeves to his elbows so that she could look more closely. His skin really was very nearly paper white. That combined with no real ability to move around and little to eat had made him slender and frail, giving him a more feminine appearance. He hadn't bothered trying to change it afterwards, because he knew it wouldn't change now thanks to his condition. It was highly embarrassing to be mistaken for a girl, but he just couldn't bring himself to change the one thing that might make him look more masculine. His hair. He cared for it devoutly and kept it long because it was the one thing he still liked about himself no matter how the rest of him looked, and the longer it was, the easier it was to remind himself of that small grace.

She gave a nod, accepting the lies... It wasnt like she hadnt been lied to before. She looked around and sat on the ground "So we staying here for a while?" she asked, picking up another book and scan reading it in a minute... She put a hand in her sleeve to scratch her arm, a flash of metal showing... it seemed she was well armoured for being a girl... She had come from other lands, across the desert, and was sold to a merchant that wanted a play thing... She had gotten sick and tired of being used while the men walked fee... Then one day a woman bought her, and taught her to fight, to defend herself, and decked her out with her most lethal weapons; her needle dagger katar forearm sheilds and her steel foot lacers... After growing up and learning her ways about the world, she left the women and went out on her own... and now she was getting paid to defend herself and another..

Morte spoke as he shed the extra layers of clothing he was wearing. Underneath, when he had the choice to wear only what he wanted, the boy favoured tank tops and cargo shorts. White, grey, and black. Nothing too colourful... he didn't want to stand out, and bright colours were not a common occurrence in anything but signs or other forms of advertisement. "You're welcome to take a look around, Lily. There's more to this house than a few shelves of books. I don't mind going out again today, but I usually only do so when I have errands to run. I'd like to do something where I could get to know you better. I don't want any unpleasant surprises in the future, of any kind. In the end, though, how much I know is up to you." He crossed his arms and leaned up against the wall. There was a couch to sit or lay on, but he wasn't going to settle down in case she wanted to go back out. He was watching her calculatingly, taking in what she seemed interested in, which books she looked at longer, how her expression changed as she scanned the collection, and so forth. Every little action was a clue. So far she didn't seem like an especially dangerous person, so long as you didn't give her reason to be.

She gave a small nod, her face relaxing a bit "I dont need to go out anywhere today, i got my blades shapened. Actually, my errand is now complete, now that i have a place to stay. I didnt feel like killing the slight gang of people that took over my home. No biggie. And as for getting to know me, not hard; i fight if i need to, i eat food, just about anything, and i admire generosity such as you have given me here, for such a small service..." she said as she picked up another book, middle of the stack, she pulled it out quick enough the books ontop didnt fall, and blew a little dust off it and started to scan read it just as fast as the others, until it got to a specific chunk, where she slowed down, her straight face almost looking as if about to smile. She had picked up thus far mostly childresns fairytales, and fantasy books, the more rare of the selection here... She leaned back against the wall, quite content here... until she finished the book moments later. She set it down and stretched, audible cracks coming from her back and shoulders, hips and any other joint she had. She gave a sigh and leaned back. "So what activity to you propose we entertain ourselves with to better get to know eachother?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. She knew hed been watching her intently, so she relaxed herself to show him she was of no threat to him... she honestly didnt care to fight, and speaking of that "Do you have somewhere i could clean my blades?" she asked offhand, thinking of it just now...

"You'll forgive me if I don't know much about weaponry, because I don't often use tools to win battles. What would you require to properly care for them?" The teen asked politely, switching stances with the girl and now acting as the active body in the room by stepping toward the room's exit. "I would suggest something along the lines of an exchange game. You'll tell me something about yourself, and I will tell you the corresponding details about myself, then the process is reversed, and so on. We will do each other the decency of being honest or offering equivalent information should we feel the need to avoid a subject. You are allowed a total of three subjects to avoid, so choose them carefully if you have any... and should we get far enough, we can proceed to the next stage of the game."

"Steel wool, and some water would do, or even just water... Thats an interesting game you have planned.... I am greatly intrigued at the 'next stage' of the game.... So shall you go first in this activity, or shall i?" she asked, the blades coming out of her sleeve without a sound, she wiping the most of the crusted blood off on the bottom hem of her pants, same with the toes of her 'shoes'... She obviously didnt have much, but wasnt afraid to get dirty with what she had...

While discovering what the girl might deign fit to disclose first might be a thought worthy of consideration, Morte was anxious to learn of any possible dangers in taking on his new bodyguard, and felt it was only right to warn her as quickly as possible of the reverse aspect. "I'll proceed, if it's all the same to you." He began, gesturing with a hand to follow him. He had those things in the kitchen area. Of course, it wasn't really a kitchen. Not in a place like this, and not for someone like him, but it was close enough. It was a surface with a built in sink-sized basin with a running supply of water, which drained into this world's equivalent of the sewer system. The steel wool as well as many other supplies were piled in a disorganized manner underneath. Sort of like home, or what Morte remembered of it. "I have people searching for me who might wish to sedate, kidnap, harm, or kill me, or any combination of those. They are well armed, may send those who are well trained, and have a good chance of finding me if you don't do your job properly. I also may have grudges against me from those who know people I have killed. That is the risk assigned to my company. If that is all fine with you, I would appreciate the same information about yourself."

She followed him to the kitchenette and grabbed the steel wool, starting at her needle blades, then putting her foot in the sink to wash the steel bracers over her toes and feet, and rolling up her sleeves to get the guards washed too.... she pulled out the daggers on her belt inside her pants and shirts, and started to scrub them as well. "I appreciate the forewarning, but i came with no strings attatched. Was sold into slavery by my father after mother died, was bought by a woman, who trained me and taught me to fight, and ive been alone since then. The only grudge or anything i could see coming was from my sister, who was sold before me... but i dont even know if shes alive so im not overly concerned." she said quickly as she scrubbed. As soon as she was done all of that, she turned the wtarer off and grabbed a towel to start drying all the metal.... and putting it all back in place.

"My turn for a question? Where you from? You dont seem to be from around here much... im from the West Isles, raised in the South Shores, and came here to Centrailia for a place to live." she looked to Morte and examined him now that she was a bit closer... he seemed very calculating, wary of her yet trying to trust the one he hired...

Morte knew very well that this girl would be sizing him up the same as he was doing to her, but he was determined to be the more difficult one to read. "To tell the truth, I wouldn't be able to answer that if I tried. I didn't pay much attention to where I was living while I was younger, and as such I doubt I'll ever find my way back. Still, I know enough that it was a vastly different place than this. That influence, whatever you want to call it, is what makes me and my ways so far separate from those of the people you will usually meet here, such as my strict dialect and the desire to sleep as far from the ground as possible, instead of under it as so many here seem to have comforted themselves with in their desire for security and privacy."

The boy had now found himself on a chair with his legs and arms crossed, eyes closed. It was considered offensive here not to look at the one you were speaking to, but he allowed himself to slip into the old habits of his own world. If he couldn't enjoy the freedoms of his own customs, what was the point of telling this girl of his vague past? The way he told it, he could have been from some far off continent, an island that was also a well-kept secret, or even just some exotic location, but there was a subtle subtext to his words that claimed there was more to it than simply being lost and unable to find his way back to his home. It was a complete inability to even search. As if his home didn't actually exist. Morte clutched the thin chain around his neck and spun the crystal between his finger and thumb. No. It was real.

They had told him over and over again it was not real, and sure enough it had begun to occur to him that what they said might be true. Once outside, he had asked around cluelessly, and once again found out the hard way that what he believed was difficult if not impossible to explain. The only clue he had, and the only proof that his wonderful distant fantasy was real... was this gem. It was his only clue to what had really happened. He had not been able to trace its origins or his own, and these facts along with his story convinced him that if he and it could be true... so could his world.

"...have you noticed anything odd about me yet?" It wasn't exactly information, other than that it suggested there was something out of the ordinary about Morte, but it was his question nonetheless.

She thought about what he was saying, and a few of the theologies of the underground societies she heard whispers from. Whispers of worlds other then our own, and how there had once been a case of a foreign creature coming to our world, lost, and was taken away.... When he crossed himself off and closed his eyes, she watched how this seemed habitual to him, rather then meant to offend, as well as a few other mannerisms he had that werent... of this world. And that gem around his neck was a definate rarity if she wasnt staring at one herself, shed never believed it existed.... She sat in an opposite chair, sideways to drape her legs off, arm over her head, other at her stomach, a standard pose for strong females who werent afraid of fighting, but the crossing of the ankles showed she didnt want a fight.

"Oddities besides everything about you, you mean? Your mannerisms are unorthodox to this place, and to most on this planet from my knowledge, as well as the fact you prize your hair, though no one here oes, and your postures are something to be oggled at. One upon prior reflection would assume you meant offense by such a closed language of body, but upon a second glance it is habitual of you, and thus causes the question of if you really have this habitualy, or if it is a learned habit of another upbringing, much different to our own. As for the sleeping high, i have to admit thats unheard of.... Now a skeptic would state that it is merely a descrepency of your minds altering due to our ways that you have chosen to exclude yourself from the general popluace in order to show an individuality, but the quacks would say that your not from around here, as in, not this world at all, but a flip universe of sorts, where pretty gems like that one around your neck would be a more common sight potentially, and mannerisms that you display would be more custome then here...." she raised an eyebrow. "What of me? Can you divine anything of my ways by my actions?" she asked, tucking her hair behind her ear in a quick gesture...

"I'm learning plenty, but unlike you who makes your thought processes clear, I think I'd prefer to keep my conclusions to myself." Morte shrugged, lifting his arms behind his head and crossing them there instead. He was careful not to let his arms shift too far into what would be a more normal position for him. If she had not yet noticed, then it meant he was getting better at mimicking the rigidness of skeleton that the people here possessed. One more skill he had that set him apart... the only problem with using it to help his story was that he couldn't remember if he'd seen anyone from his world displaying similar qualities. He had never used it much himself in his youth until he had discovered here that nobody else could do it. He'd started doing it much more in his own privacy after that. The difference was invisible unless Morte was using the extra mobility, but his limbs could reach angles that Lily's couldn't. In some places it was because his skeleton was just different, but in most cases it was simply because he had extra joints. The down side to this, in a place like the one he was now living in, was that his bones were not as sturdy as they needed to be, and something that might not be as damaging to a person born here could easily break something of his that it was not meant to hit. Repairing the damage could also be difficult when Morte didn't have a doctor who could properly assess him. "Another world, hnnn?"

"I was actually more referring to something more physical, but I suppose I can't expect you to pick up on things I'm trying to hide. Let's get back to information instead of speculation. It's true, I was brought up with these mannerisms being commonalities. My hair is important to me, although that is entirely because of things that have happened to me here, not so much because of influences from home. Where I come from, if you believe my stories, this would be considered enough clutter to make a person claustrophobic. This home, this city, this entire continent. We have tall buildings that are widely spread out with open roofs, and we spend most of our time as close to the sky as we can. I don't remember seeing nearly so much of the sun as I do here, though." Morte kept his eyes shut as he spoke, his head resting against his arms, still cautious not to slip into comfort and give himself away more already. His face conveyed his expressions very well, even without the use of his eyes. "This necklace... it's rare where I come from, too. Not as rare as here, but much less common than diamonds. It's my best bet to ever get home, but I don't have very high hopes..."

She raised her eyebrows not saying a word... His story seemed completely improbable, and would have deinately landed him in an asylum, or the labs, which then would further contribute to his negative outlook to her world.... His postures seemed a little rigid, and he seemed very light of build compared to her... "...Random thought. If i were to hit you hard enough, would you break? Or are you tougher then you look?" she asked, having to voice it. Not that she meant ayhting by the remark, her tone not threatening at all, more speculative, like a child with a toy, wondering if they bent it this way would it break... She sat up and crossed her ankles, her knees up to her chest in a comfortable crouch, her elbows on her knees and her hands between them... She sighed and scratched an ankle real quick, under the steel platings.

Morte's eyes slid off to the side, as if thinking on the answer himself, searching for the likely outcome. "That's a little silly to be asking, isn't it? People don't break..." He began, but looking back into her eyes, he continued with what she had actually been referring to. "But yes, you're right. My body doesn't have the same density as yours, so I'd probably break easier. However... you're also right in your second observation. I'm definitely tougher than I look, as well." Despite himself, loosening up about his true self and history was making him more tense. It was a dangerous move in the hands of the wrong person, and Morte didn't know this girl well enough to tell whether it was the right move or not. She could be thinking along the same lines as that mercenary from years ago right now for all he knew, and it would be right back into custody for him. "I wouldn't test the theory if I were you."

"Oh nonono, wasnt planning on it. Your givin me a place to stay and money to boot to do a job ive been doin my whole life. I got no reason to even attempt to hurt you, or do anything else to you for that matter except my job." She adjusted her pose again, seemingly uncomfortable with any position she got herself into...She gave an aggravated sigh "Mind if i lose the shoes? Theyre itchin me." She said, lifting up her pant legs to show the metal bracers that covered her toes and shin to the knee. She started to do a little tinkering, and it came off in a seemingly solid piece, but there were a few overlapping bits to make motion a little easier without creating spaces in her offensive defenses. She set them close by her feet and took up her first posistion sprawled out, tucking her legs in under her this time, trying to find a comfortable position.... "So where am i crashing, and wheres the foods? Ima hungry body guard, needs to keep up meh strengths!" she said with a yawn

Morte listened and watched with increasing confusion, but nodded and offered up the information she seemed to want. "The bedrooms are upstairs. You'll find that both are relatively empty, and I tend to move between them depending on how I'm feeling, so you can take whichever you want and I'll settle down in the other. The food is in here, in the cupboards and fridge, of course." He answered in a very concise way, then asking a question of his own. "What do you plan to do about your hair?"

She raised her eyebrows at that, looking at him in blank confusion "Excuse me? What do you mean what am i doing with my hair?" she asked, looking at it... it was tangled, messy, and probably had crusted everything in it... shed never really washed it since leaving the womans home.... it hadnt occured to her to do it, honestly... Training had been top priority next to food and sleep. Hygeine was next, but hair was at the bottom of everyything... it was just there t block the sun from her face so the glare wouldnt mess with her aim...

Morte stared, a little horrified inside to be truthful. Her hair was not just a mess, it was a miracle it didn't carry disease. "I mean... wash it. Or cut it, even better. Long hair is dangerous on a fighter, but not nearly as much so as not keeping it clean and clear. So which course of action do you plan to pursue? Consider it one of the terms of your employment."