Stray Dog Strut (open)

[Deleted]

The stories were what made Isis smile, the fact that Balam had been around to experience such first hand. That didn't bother her, really. Like before, living with vampires and demons did that to you. After all, it wasn't like they didn't age. Physically, just barely, but mentally? No, they continue to grow, their minds expanding far beyond what they should have naturally been. However, Balam didn't act superior, but normal, as if the two of them were both equals, which made everything smooth over for the slave. The questions that the shifter asked made Isis smile, just bit, wistful again. It was nice, talking to those in the world beyond this one. But a god was different, in a way.

"Well," she said, slow and thoughtful, thinking about the next words she could say, "he goes by many names, and I just called his Osiris, but the same person, and he isn't really . . . what I thought, at first. The religions have it all wrong, you see." Tentatively, the necromancer searched out again for any more presences, and was surprised to find another animal, beneath the sand, a lizard that seemed to swim through it, as though a fish would in water. Her hand plunged in, and drew it out, handling it before letting it go, back into the world from which it came. "The gods and goddesses of the Underworld, Satan, Lucifer . . really, they're just Death. And Death . . is a shape shifter, just like you." She smiled, and continued. "He likes to take the form of a martin, I don't know why . . but he's all knowing, and . . different. Kind, yet . . realistic, you know? Nobody really matters specifically, except, well, those that died before their time, like me." She fell silent for a bit, recalling the memories from so long ago. It was hard, because at a time after that, the necromancer had blocked them from her mind, not wanting what she was given, a curse rather than a gift.

"But he rules all, really, and knows that nobody can defy him. There is no life without death, and no death without life." Isis shrugged, looking for the sun, past its highest point in the sky, and descending, letting all know that the day would end in a a while. She sighed, a bit dejectedly. "It seems all I'm doing is wasting around," Isis muttered, sitting back up, to face Balam again.

[feathers4]

Balam listened to Isis with the rapt attention of someone hungry for what he was hearing. He had met many shamans and witchdoctors and necromancers and such in his long journeys, and all had given him differing, strange glimpses of what world awaited him after death. They were, he'd noticed, all different, all colored by personal beliefs or gods, but all fairly similar at the root. The little necromancer before him had a story to match the ones he'd heard before. The shapeshifter-- who was apparently brethren of the undying lord of death, bowed his head to the girl. "Sorry. I guess I haven't gotten used to the newer names. Things are always changing on me like that, haha!" They both paused in their conversation to watch Isis plunge her hand into the sand and pull out a lizard, like a bear pulling salmon from a river.

Balam watched the action with great interest, and then, when she let the thing go he remembered the grumbling of his empty stomach and immediately lunged after the little reptile. He shifted mid-lunge, a hungry jaguar stretching out of the man who'd just been lounging on the sand and discussing history and divinity. The cat caught the lizard in quick, murderous jaws before it could hit the sand again. A small purr escaped his throat as he crunched down on the tasty little animal, paws twisting him around on the sand lightly so to turn and return himself to where he'd been sitting before as a man. None of this seemed to be out of the ordinary for him, and if he understood how shocking this might be to someone unacquainted with the man who was really man-jaguar-raven-jackal, he didn't show it. The Xbalanque listened to the rest of her explanations while munching on the little scaly snack she'd found, the creature's intense amber eyes fixated on her so she knew his attention to what she was saying wasn't any less for his animal shape. He was so inextricably tied and interwoven with the natural world and the forms he took to explore it, that this sort of impromptu snack was something one could expect from the Mayan.

The lizard was small, and didn't take long to disappear into the belly of the beast, who had lain back down near Isis in a sphinx-like position to eat. He would shift back into a man after he finished; he couldn't speak in jaguar form, the animal didn't have a developed-enough voicebox or mobile lips. Balam wiped his mouth before speaking, just in case there was any blood that had escaped his notice as a cat. "Mmh. So...Death is kind? And pragmatic and unconcerned...fascinating." The delight in his voice wasn't feigned-- he really was a captive audience.

"No life without death...well, there's no way to live without killing someone or something, at least, but Immortal creatures do run amok." He followed the necromancer's gaze to the falling sun. "But the Lord of Death as a little blue bird...I'd fancy a chat with him some day far, far in the future." Some people, at his age, were resigned to the eventuality of their end. Balam was not one of those people.

"Well, I know you're enslaved and all that bit, but...obviously you're not barred from wandering since you're here. Why not just...escape? Go where you please? It seems like it wouldn't be hard for you to just hop on a boat and leave." Balam also didn't really understand the concept of being tied-down or enslaved.

[Deleted]

Isis watched, slightly curious, along with a bit of envy and fascination, as the man bcame a cat, though she hadn't seen him in that form, it suited him well, though the jackal was better to her, something that brought a slight smile to the necromancer's face, light and innocent. As the lizard disappeared into his jaws, gently, her shaking hands came up to just barely touch the black, silky fur, just once, a fletting sort of way for her. It was odd, touching a feline that could obviously kill her, and again, being near something that could shift like that gave little pangs of fear, though she brushed them away. It was getting easier to lock those fears away, alone in the desert, with good company. Hsis words made her grin, and a small laugh came from the blonde-haired woman. Balam seemed like one of those perpetually happy people, an optimist, despite whatever may have happened to him in his long life.

The smile disappeared as quickly as it had come, and Isis had to look away from the shifter. Why not just leave? The right hand came up to trace a small, barely tangiable bump on her left wrist, somethinng that tracked her movements and vitality rates, embedded in there, not coming out anytime soon. "I can't just leave," she said, biting her lower lip. Though his words were nice, and very tempting, extremely so, Isis couldn't do it. It wasn't something Isis hated, nor loved, more like a lukewarm sort of relationship. It was easy to get along with, if one had the right people looking after you. "I never gave Mater Lucius a reason to hate me, or come after me." She could remember what he had done to Dark Fang, for raping her, and it was easier than before to lock them up, though she was still terrified of the Lycans, and any man, really. It was a miracle Isis was here, talking to Balam, alone and unafraid.

"His wrath isn't something I wish to feel," she whispered. The temptation gnawed in the corner of her mind. It whispered to Isis, and promised her of the wonderful breath of freedom, to have one's life as their own. She had experienced that, but it was when she was too young to fully appreciate it. By the time the necromancer did understand, that was something out of her reach, too far away to grasp it, and would be completely unable to, now. "The offer is something that I'll have to decline, Balam. I'll be tracked, beaten down, and punished. I can't leave." Those last three words seemed like a death sentence now, to the necromancer. They were odd, for she never really saw enslavement that way when it came to Lucius Erif. She was treated more like an employee. Isis had a room, a nice one at that, good company, and protection. After all, wasn't it he that carried her broken and beaten body home? But, it was different hearing the words from someone else, who just popped up on the scene.

[feathers4]

As wild as Balam was, as a man or as a beast, he didn't mind Isis' small hand brushing his fur in the slightest. There was something nice about being petted gingerly like that, a brief light touch, the brevity and awe a reflection of someone's respect for the untamed world and the creatures in it, Balam's only real home. It was very good of her, he thought, and his opinion of her only improved. Even though she knew he was a shifter, it took more courage than most had to reach out and stroke a jaguar's pelt. She might've been shaking like an aspen-leaf and incredibly soft-spoken, but the old shifter sensed a quiet strength in her.

Women were like that, though. Frail on the surface, but a strong deep river underneath. He liked to try to understand them occasionally as an amusing pastime. It was like a game he knew he'd never win but rarely lost its charm. Just as long as he didn't start getting attached to anyone...well, he'd manage to avoid any sort of love for the past few centuries, Balam figured he was getting good at dodging feelings by now.

But their serious discussion had resumed, and Isis's smile blew out like a candle in the wind when he asked why she couldn't just shove off and go follow her dreams. It was hard for Balam to really understand what it was to be tied down, as he hadn't been stuck anywhere in a very, very long time, and he'd never been enslaved. Master Lucius, he thought to himself. What a positively Roman name. From her words, he sounded brutish and mean, to be the type who would fly after a girl like this one and beat her down. How unpleasant to think about! He felt ashamed for ever having breached the topic-- it was obviously causing no little distress in the necromancer. "I, well, um. I can tell it's a difficult subject, I'm sorry. It's hard for me to understand what it means to..." He searched a moment for a delicate way to say what he meant. "To be in your position."

Balam peered at the girl from behind deep spice-brown eyes, his posture loose, a shoulder hunching in reflection of his sudden penitent mood. He felt like it was a good time for a subject change, but he was at a loss for what to say. After a little pause of him breaking his gaze with her to study the sand below and ruminate on the relative merits of lizard meat, the shifter spoke again. "So, I don't doubt your story about the underworld, I've heard some others very much like it...but I do wonder, where does that put the angels? Are they working for this God of Death, your Osiris, or is there another god neither of us has met?" It was an abrupt subject change, perhaps, but he didn't want to upset Isis anymore, and she seemed happier in their little chats about divinities and the histories Balam had witnessed.

[Deleted]

Looking up at Balam, she smiled apologetically. "No, I'm sorry."[/b] It was easy to read in his features how theshifter percieved Lucius. Afraid that she really had given Balam the wrong impression, she hurried to explain, "He's kind to me, I just don't want to be on the recieving end of his anger. I never was, and I don't want to start now." At that, she let the subject truly drop, avoiding his eyes, though she could feel them on her. Now Isis was nervous, afraid of his opinion of her, something that had not mattered to the necromancer in a while. It was odd to care of that, especially when the person wasn't all that influential, or in control of her. It was a sensation Isis was used to, but she couldn't help but manage a sly smile, just a hint of one. "No sane person would wish to be in my postition," she murmured.

"It's alright, not your fault," she murmured, appreciating the subject change, glad he at least had that much tact. "Perhaps the angels are under their own beliefs, in their opinion, and not one of those light versus dark . . maybe thir brand of justice isn't really justice after all." It was an odd thought, one that seemed morbid at first. Really, all it was truly turned out to be anti-conformist. Isis didn't like panic and disorder, but if she were to live life, she wanted to do things her way, which often involved the truth. Though the necromancer was shy most of the time, when her morals were questioned, she was something not to be messed with. Here, it was a different experience to talk openly, and not worry about what one would say.

To Isis, for all Balam's wisdom and detachment from the world, it seemed as thugh he was missing out on something. Perhaps it was the fact that the great shifter had lived so long, seen so many lives come and go, in and out like flickering lights, that he didn't get attached to people. It could have been he found more comfort in the objects on his baot, or the memories he so cherished and recalled for the necromancer. Isis wasn't sure if she was correct, but more often than not, the small woman was. Intuition that was always there, not really learning it, but interpreting it, ever sonce her death many years ago. Maybe that was another trait she had brought back from that realm over which one entity alone reigned over. "Balam," the necromancer asked, hestitant at first to ask the man whose experience in life outstretched her own by far, "Do you ever get lonely, living such a long life?"

[feathers4]

The shapeshifter listened to the girl explain away his initial impressions of the master she'd described. He'd been a little hasty in forming his opinions-- the man mustn't be terrible for Isis, a nice girl, to be defending him. As she said, he was kind and never angry with her, which he supposed, were one to be enslaved, would be very good things indeed. Still, he tended to wonder how kind you could really be if you were the sort of person who rested easily in the knowledge that they owned a person. Not he, or at least he didn't think so. Knowing that he was keeping someone like Isis from living out what short life she had here would've kept him from sleeping at night. Nope. There was no part of slavery he understood or wanted to involve himself in.

And then, that blessed subject change, lifting the oppressive weight of their previous topic from the conversation with a few sufficiently interesting words. It struck him that they had moved fairly well from slavery to divinity-- there was no chit-chatting with this little necromancer, but Balam had to admit to himself that he thought it was a good trait. He was good at mindless banter, sure, but that didn't mean he really enjoyed it. Her idea about angelic justice rang with a note of singularity and uniqueness that perhaps stemmed from her affinity for the other side of life, or perhaps a natural predisposition for ideals that didn't match the norm. There was very little wrong with swimming against the current as long as you weren't too ambitious with how far you got. "That's a novel concept...hm. I've met quite a few angels. They're a startlingly diverse people, but their morals seem to match those of the culture and timeperiod they're in. I've thought that maybe they're just around to keep society on point, but then, if that were true, how would societies grow and change? Perhaps they really do just have their own complex sense of justice."

In the best of times, Balam was a pleasantly deep thinker, quick on his feet and easy to lure into a philosophical discussion. Here, in the desert in a new place with good company and not a care in the world, they were very near the best of times. His mind wandered for a moment, before Isis' little voice called his name. The shifter's head swiveled, eyes drawing lazily over to the girl. "Do you ever get lonely, living such a long life?"

He paused a moment after such a deep question, certainly not averse to answering but wondering quite how. His eyes caught hers-- "You're pretty intuitive...perhaps something of a psychic? I wouldn't be too surprised." He spoke, aware that he was straying from the topic she'd breached, but just about to return to it. "Yes, I do. I learned after a long time how to befriend my loneliness and become my own friend and confidant and comforter, so I get along without going stark raving loony, but yes. You see enough things come and go, you start keeping yourself away from them. And then you start getting good at keeping your distance until you don't want to get close to people anymore. Still, sometimes I mess up, sure." All of these things, perhaps depressing to someone else, he explained to Isis with perfect nonchalance. It was how he did things, separating his emotions from the unpleasant parts of his life and of himself so he felt more sane.

[Deleted]

Again, it was easy to tell that Balam didn't quite understand slavery. But then again, it wasn't something Isis would have chosen to study had she the chance. Slavery wasn't something to be taken lightly, though some people did. Ah, if only they looked at positions the slaves were in, then things would change quickly. An interesting thought to see Master Lucius with a collar around his neck, limited on where to go and what time he got back, treated like a child that was nearing teenage years. That would be something to see, though that was outside the realm of anything possible in the history of forever, though Lucius would probably live that long, the vampire. Her dark brown eyes flickered upward to find the setting sun. It would get colder here in the desert, and Isis had no intention of freezing yet. It would be a while, though, till the heat ebbed away, and so, she wasn't really concerned. But, it was indeed important to know what time it was. Slaves that belonged to Lucius Erif may have been allowed free reign, but there was a curfew.

His answers led to more things that came to her mind, taking wing in the forms of words and theories. The angels were a mystery to Isis, and she wasn't sure if the necromancer wanted to get involved with them. They may be against slavery - or, from what she heard, only the white angels were - but did Isis really want to go against the majority of the population? Those were questions that arose within herself, and Isis wouldn't answer them now. "Maybe because of the angels' need for stabilization and the rejection of change, that is the sole reason societies do change. After all, don't they reject their falls from heaven, if they are cast out? But perhaps the angels are supposed to be the bearers of justice, and just get lost along the way, like humans do." Isis didn't know if that were true or not, but again, she was contented with her own little world.

This time, when his eyes found her form, Isis didn't look away. She was honestly curious, and it wouldn't be something she let go of easily, this new topic of relationships and the ever-changing, quickly moving, sands of time. That wasn't the first time somebody had suggested she might be a physic, but Isis denied that claim, shaking her head slightly. She wasn't one to agree, when all in all, the necromancer had very good intuition. "Would it hurt to be attached once in a while, Balam? Aren't you missing out on life, just by watching and waiting, looking on at the changing societies? But again, what would one be waiting for? Sorry, I didn't mean to criticize . . " Usually, she worried about whether or not people would get offended. She was introverted, it was true, but this subject perked her interests.

Often, she would keep quiet, but really, how could one live like Balam had? The people in her life were very imprtant to the necromancer, and she couldn't help but worry a bit for Balam. Lonliness was never your friend, just an ally who turned against you when it became too much to handle. As well, the way he explained it, without a care in the world, made it seem as though he had contemplated this beforehand, and just stuck with that answer. But, who knows how many people he met, with all the time periods he was a part of, the shifter living longer than Isis could ever hope, had she wished to remain human.

[feathers4]

It was such a wonderful day. He'd landed at a new place, explored a vibrant town, had some hot falaffel, located a desert to play in and now, had a fascinating little necromancer to discuss deep topics with. Balam had already decided inwardly that Isis was going to be his newest friend here. She seemed free enough to have friends despite the barbed-wire chain she wore. It was interesting that she had a tattooed collar instead of a real one. Perhaps one day the two would swap stories about their tats. He wondered idly if she had anymore before her response came.

She seemed to be saying that the angels' hold on an unchanging set of values was the impetus for societies to grow and change around them. It was another novel concept, which again had Balam's brows raised in silent appreciation and contemplation of this new idea. "I'd certainly agree that they come here with the best of intentions and some get 'lost along the way,' like you very aptly put it. Many white angels regret the casting out of many of their number, and most black angels resent their holy brethren for it. What's curious is how that relates to the rest of us. If angels really do uphold the example of justice we're supposed to follow, and half of them fall to temptation, what does that mean to us?" He eyed her shortly, feeling for a moment as he had when he had done a gig as a professor several decades ago. That had been an interesting job, and it had only lasted a few months. Maybe he'd attempt it again one day. After all, teaching history was ridiculously easy for him.

"I've always thought it meant that the line between good and evil isn't really as narrow or as easy as they like to say it is...I'm sure they're aware of it by now." This last part was said rather jovially, as though it was some private joke between himself and Isis, nonhumans sitting on the sidelines of several different wars. Good versus Evil, Vampires versus Psychic Vampires, Vampires versus Lycans, Angels versus Demons, Master versus Slave...the list went on and on, and Balam at least had no part in any of them. The benefits of being a gypsy and a shapeshifter, he supposed.

When she denied his assertion that she must be psychic in some way, a crooked smile appeared on Balam's easy face. She had something up her sleeve, if only an incredible talent for reading people, and it was impressive to the shifter. In fact, it was more impressive that she had honed her intuition so well instead of being born or blessed with some effortless psychic advantage. And then came the more difficult questions, ones that required careful, discreet answers from Balam. Did it hurt to be attached once in awhile? Of course it did. It was nice, of course, initially. And then time would pass, as it often did, and things would fade. Even when those he attached himself to were as ageless as he, things always changed. Either that, or things never changed, which was just as stifling. With Balam's eternal case of restlessness and wanderlust, things became impossible to hold on to, so somewhere along the line he had stopped trying. When he responded to her this time, his tone was more somber, more thoughtful.

"I have wandered the world for a very long time. I'm very attached to my life and my freedom, and any other attachments, to people or things, limit my freedom and endanger my life. Yes, it would hurt to get close to something, Isis. Please, don't think I've lived all this time without finding loved ones and people who were like family to me. I have, and many of them, and I have no doubt that whether I want to or not I'll find many more. But..."

He paused for thought. Missing out on life? Him? No. "No, I don't think I'm missing out on life. I've just found what I love most in the world, and that's traveling and watching the world grow and change and meeting the people caught in it. Getting involved too deeply with people means, more often than not, that I can't do what I love. Life is always unfair to everyone who lives it, Isis, no matter how long." He chose not to answer her question about what he was waiting for. Balam wasn't really sure himself. His death, maybe, or something that would radically alter his life, or perhaps something else entirely. He knew that much, at least, that everything always changes. A moment or two of silent introspection was taken after the comment. A gust of wind, naturally responding to a shapeshifter's changing emotions, sworled around him briefly as he thought. The breeze seemed to wake him up from whatever reverie he was lost in, his usual casual smile back on his face. "No need to apologize, I don't mind a bit." His smile, which as usual reached his eyes, was reassuring-- he really didn't mind at all. It was good to look inwardly, to recognize the self-doubt and pain in himself, to remember they were buried in him somewhere. He wasn't the type to bathe in self-pity, but more to acknowledge what upset him and then move on.

[Deleted]

His words made sense, and she liked this small bit of a friendship that she had with Balam, though it was something new to Isis. She wasn't one to 'get out' much, as some would put it, and the fact that he had stumbled upon her made the day better. It had been pretty morbid to begin with, but the contemplation of the divinities and their ways made it worth coming out to the desert. Isis had isolated herself from nearly everyone, including Lucius, which was odder than usual, all things considering about the little necromancer. The open acceptance that Balam had given her, though, really made Isis wonder what she was missing out on in life.

"The angels are nothing but those that seem to be above us, but really, they are succeptible to sin just as much as those on Earth are." It was the grim truth, but that was why the Black Angels were here, with their broken wings and empty eyes. They seemed to have no life - or so some of them appeared not to. Others were the ones wreaking havoc, the Seven Deadly Sins, they called themselves. "The angels may play God, but they do fall harder than the earthly beings do. Their responsibilties have more consequences when mistakes are made on their part." If that were true, then what made the angels divine? Was it their origins, pr simply because people allowed them to play the role, not stepping up and setting the truth out on the table for all to see? Perhaps it was to keep order in society, but then again, everything in this city was out of whack to begin with.

Her eyes studied Balam's face as he spoke, and then flickered to the setting sun, halfway behind the horizon already. The day had gone by quickly, though usually, they went by slow when one had nothing to do and nowhere to go, an open agenda that may have been disturbing to some, normal to others, depending on the way they looked at things. "I didn't realize that you didn't miss out on what you liked to do . . some people do things differently, I suppose. I don't like to watch time go by, but then again, I don't like society much either. I guess I just belong in my own little world, then, seeing things differently than others." It was a bit of an apology. Balam was interesting to her, having so many museries wrapped up around him, letting people look but never delving into them. She didn't comment on his avoiding of her question, but her chin jut forward momentarily before resting it on her knees, drawing them carefully close to her body, a small bit of pain coming up from her upper torso, ebbing away quickly. "Balam, do you have any idea what time it is?" she murmured, looking over to him.

One of the rules of the ZaneCorp Tower was that if slaves did want their freedom, slightly, they would have to wear a tracker, which was embedded in Isis' wrist, and that they would have to be back by a certain time. The curfew had been broken by Isis a couple times before, and she wasn't punished, always managing to evade it somehow, some way. It also helped to have a well-executed excuse for why she wasn't back on time. The doors locked automatically, and she didn't want to get stuck outside, though she was always let in. There were people that actually just worked for Lucius that helped her out, too. The necromancer lost track of time on days like this, when she enjoyed herself, and was alone, separated from the city in one way or another.

[feathers4]

Balam listened happily to her musings, as she did his. She insisted that the angels were not really higher than them who walked the earth? Perhaps. That when they strayed from the light, their punishment was harsher than most was certainly true. It seemed to him that forgiveness for mortals was much more easily given than forgiveness to the rest of them. "As with most of what you say, I have to agree, Miss Isis." He chuckled, wondering once again at what cosmology they were living in. That there was one seemed certain, what with all the angels and demons and necromancers running around. As to what it was, though, there was only speculation. It was as though those who knew weren't telling but those who didn't couldn't stop asking. Strange, how those things went.

"No, please, I don't mean that I don't miss out on things I love. I do, I deny myself companionship and I know it. I just feel that once you find that thing that defines you, it isn't worth letting go of for anything but the perfect person, and I think maybe if there was one for me she must have died centuries ago." It was a hurried admission, something like tearing off a bandaid quickly. He wasn't really sure why he was being so uncharacteristically candid with Isis, but she had a way of relaxing his defenses, he supposed. His statement rang more of confession, or perhaps denial. Confession of a fear that he was to be alone until his death, and denial of a deeper fear-- that this waiting he seemed to be doing was for some woman he had yet to meet, one that would steal him away from his bride, the sea. Mildly odd, when you looked deeper, to see where his fears lay. "But, I can't blame you for not caring for the passage of time. Mortals live quickly and vivaciously-- I've grown accustomed to waiting around, but you never should. You don't have time...unless you're planning on finding a vampire or lycan to turn you?"

It was not an uncommon act in the realm of the supernatural, when a human discovered their world and wanted to join it. Occasionally one could find someone to bite them and turn them, but new vampires or lycans were a liability-- they were brash, bloodcrazed and vulnerable. Still, it was not hard to find a willing sire. Perhaps her master would do the job, even. Longevity was a desirable thing, but it came at a perilous cost.

And then, out of the blue, she questioned the time. Now, Balam carried all sorts of knick-knacks, and one was a very old watch. It was a pocketwatch, one of the sort that flipped open and hung on a chain and with a quartz spring that had to be wound daily. Of course, the shapeshifter, besides being very close to nature, had also been born in the time before clocks. He had no need of the watch he carried-- it was just another trinket. His eyes went to the skies, squinting as he surveyed the sun. "Uh, looks like it's about..." He paused, calculating the date and season and such other things. "About 7:45." His eyes left the glowering red sun, and onto the bandaged necromancer, looking cute as a button with her head resting gently on her knees. "Got a hot date?" Balam teased her gently, guessing that the real reason had something to do with her enslavement.

[Deleted]

His theories were slightly worrying, to a person such as Isis. Balam agreed with the little necromancer though, to a degree. Those of higher powers always had consequences that affected others more than those of a lower status. Domino effect, in a more influential way. The talk that he might have lost the one that was made for him, a true soul mate, not the love of a lifetime, but the one to open up a new lifetime of love to Balam. She shook her head, contradicting him, a hand coming up to push the blond strands out of her doe eyes. "Do you really believe that she would have died long ago if she was made for you? That doesn't make very much sense," she chided him gently, eyebrows raised slightly to show her skepticism. "She wouldn't take you away from whatever means the most to you at this point in time. If anything, had she truly been made for you, she would show it to you in a new and better light, Balam." That much was true, and actually made sense to the necromancer. People in love didn't attempt to steal their other away from something they cared passionately about, for wouldn't that destroy them, slowly but surely?

His suggestion made Isis shoot the shifter a glance, telling him that her changing wouldn't happen. She didn't want to lose herself, and care for nothing but blood, under the control of that lust, or become a dog at night, commanded by the moon. In truth, she was ultimately commanded by no one, when you put things in perspective like that. The necromancer had no ties to anything, but just one frail string bonding her to Lucius Erif, though at times, it may have seemed like a steel cord that she couldn't escape from. Here, Isis was nearly free, almost and not quite. "I won't lose myself that way. Why should I fear death?" she inquired quietly, closing her eyes for a moment. There was nothing to fear from the other side when one saw things like Isis did. She left it at that, not really commenting on it more. Truth was, she was terrified of the Lycans, and she readjusted her position nervously, one and placed on the sand again. They were still alone here, in the barren land.

The shifter read the time easily, and she had to admit, it was impressive. The only thing Isis knew how to do was tell when it was noon, not much help here. "Thanks, Balam." Her curfew wasn't for another three or so hours, but it didn't help to make sure. And besides, she was allowed to break it now and then, so long as it didn't become a habit. Lucius didn't want his slaves to become too defiant, after all. "Oh yes," she replied, joking back, grinning. "I have half the guys in town pining after me, don't you know?" Hah, like that was true. She shied away from most males, a new habit that began after she came back from the Underground with Lucius' men, rescued from a fate more terrible than she would like to think about. A suppressed shiver ran though her curled up body, followed by a sigh. Isis gave a sarcastic eye-roll, tossing her head back to look at the sky, not so dark, it just beginning to set it. There were the faint traces of stars, but Isis' human eyes couldn't make them out.

[feathers4]

Isis was a pretty girl, and wise beyond her years, but when she started speaking about love he was very quickly reminded of her youth. "Oh, life doesn't usually make that much sense, and love is very rarely so easy." Spoken like a true jaded old man running scared from love. Still, though he dodged the sentiment, he didn't speak untruths. Life is messy, and love takes work, those things he knew to be truer than most anything else he could think of. But did he really, truly believe there was or ever could be some soulmate for him? Well, if he hadn't found one in a few thousand years of wandering the globe, it was an understandable time to lose hope. Seeing things in a new and better light would be welcomed by the pirate with open arms, but like an atheist who'd waited a lifetime for a miracle, he had no reason to keep any hope alive. Besides, Balam knew also, or at least believed, that people destroy everything they love in one way or another. He didn't want to be destroyed. He didn't want to destroy anyone. If anything, avoiding any chance of love was good for his health. He had the blessing of regeneration and thus of abnormally long life, but not immortality.

Speaking of mortality, Balam remembered as soon as he spoke of it to Isis that he was talking to someone very familiar with death and dying. "Oh, right, of course. I'm the one afraid of dying, not you." A silly grin rose onto his face at this little truth. Of course she wouldn't want to become one of the undead or the lycan race-- she had no reason to be so scared of crossing over. She'd done it once already, apparently, and still spoke to dead people today. She knew what was going to happen when it was all over. Balam wondered if that took any of the mystery out of life for her, or the wonderment and awe of death that perplexed all others who were fated to pass away. He'd heard a thousand descriptions of the afterlife, if not more, and all were slightly different. Occasionally, he wondered what lay beyond the veil for him, but he always ended the train of thought with the assertion that it was a mystery he could wait awhile to solve.

And then, aha! Isis joked with him! He chuckled wholeheartedly to her little jest, his eyes moving back and forth between her and the pretty, watercolor sky that was beginning to paint itself above their heads. Desert sunsets, he'd always thought, were the best. Even still, Balam watched her with a jaguar's keen eye as she seemed to let her teasing grin hade into a shiver of some unpleasant emotion, a sigh and then a defiantly sarcastic eye-roll. He felt like he'd shared enough with her now to at least ask a bit more about herself, and what that was all about, and perhaps even the bandages she was covered with. Observant Balam had noticed, after all, her tendency to steer conversation away from herself and avoid when she could. "Not t' be rude, but what was that about? That little shiver thing? Something bothering you?" Well, he supposed that was a bit more intrusive than he'd intended, but she could always choose not to respond to him.

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Balam had given up hope, and that annoyed Isis more than nearly anything she knew. Hope was what fed the living, to continue onward, and to just be alive. But some people seemed to lose that spark, but Isis couldn't blame some of them. Balam had things going for him, and soon, someone would come along and show him what he was missing, as though he were incomplete. Or at least, Isis hoped so. Maybe there wasn't somebody made for him, to complete the puzzle. But she wouldn't be around to see that, more than likely. Her life was short compared to others', yet Isis was fine with that. There was nothing she was afraid of concerning death. She had been there before, and came back, though for the second time, Isis wouldn't be so lucky. So, the little necromancer simply shrugged, not arguing with the shifter. It wasn't really going to change his thoughts, anyway, if she did.

"You shouldn't be afraid of dying,"[/color] Isis said softly, looking at Balam, eyes meeting his spice-brown ones. "There's nothing more to harm you . . and who knows? Perhaps your journey will continue from there, more like . . another port after a long journey at a familiar sea, stopping, and then resuming in one that has unexplored waters."[/color] She stretched out her legs, letting them rest against the now cooling sand of the once hot desert, simply trying to get rid of the tenseness she felt. What lay beyond death, not even Isis knew, so there was still something to wonder about for the necromancer. It was something she did when she lay awake in her bed, or sat on the windowsill near the top of the ZaneCorp Tower, perched precariously, always liable to fall off, and never doing so.

Oh, great. Of course the shifter had noticed her shover, the shudder that came up her body whenever she was reminded of Fang. Isis wasn't sure of it would do her more harm thangood to talk about that night, with a man she had met just recently. Truth be told, Isis had never spoken about that night, hadn't really gone through those memories or relived that night. "It's . . "[/color] The necromancer struggled for the words. ". . a long story, Balam."[/color] She suddenly sounded weary, and unsure of herself, nervous and slightly more withdrawn. "I don't know if you'll wanna listen, but . ."[/color] Again, she trailed off, and cast another look to the night sky, which was turning darker and darker by the minute.

"I never talked about it, so I'm not sure how . . I'll be."[/b] She was giving the shifter a fair warning. After all, Isis might just freak out, for all the woman knew. It wuld be hard, but probably worth it. Her hands were shaking again, and put them behind her head as she lay in the sand, glancing between Balam and the night sky, just beginning to get dotted with the stars. It was fair to say that she was unstable, a bit, when it came to her emotions now, regarding that incident with the Lycan.

[feathers4]

Balam grinned at her explanation of the best scenario of death. "The best an old pirate could hope for, that death is but the next great adventure, not the end, just another road that everybody's got to walk down. It's a nice thought, isn't it?" He too lay back, hands falling behind his head as he got comfortable on the warm sand, a pleasantly familiar feeling. That scenario was precisely the best Balam had figured to hope for, no little cloud paved with streets of gold or endless afterlives, but another whole world beyond this one. It seemed unlikely, impossible, but there were many unlikely and impossible things wandering the world. Hell, he was one of them. From the way Isis spoke, in maybes and perhapses, he realized that she didn't fully know what lay on the other side of life, only what the king of that world was like. And she had spoken to the dead-- that was an interesting thing indeed. He envied her that, a little, if only because of the burning desire to satisfy his own insatiable curiosity. Beyond asking selfish questions, though, did he have much to say to any of those that had passed before him? Not particularly. There were apologies he'd make, of course, and old lovers to reconnect with, but not much beyond that. A few of the more interesting people he had left without finding how their lives had panned out-- he'd like to inquire after them. But, still, everything he had to say now would be looking back to life. He hoped desperately that there would be fodder for conversation beyond this life.

And then the conversation changed tack, this time in a less graceful way than it had before. He watched her reactions to his question with a turned head, the both of them laying at their leisure on the sand, watching the starlight begin to puncture the twilight. He understood her pause for a struggle for words, and kept quiet and attentive. A long story it must certainly be, to have made the girl sound so weary just in mentioning it. Her shy nervousness had returned, the timidity reintroduced like a reprisal of when he'd first run into the little necromancer.

"If you want to talk about it, of course I'd be happy to listen. If you don't feel comfortable, forget I asked." He paused, ruminating on what could have so deeply bothered Isis. Once Balam had gotten past her initial reserve, he'd found her to be an interesting and optimistic person, and the fact that some event had shaken her so disturbed him. And yet she'd never spoken of it? He supposed it had been recent, on account of her bandages, but still. Had she been mauled by something, or caught in a fire? That didn't generally damage people so much emotionally, though. It was quite a mystery, even to a shifter as experienced in the tragedies of life as Balam.

[Deleted]

The faint smile returned as he commented on Isis' view on the unknown afterlife. He did have a way with words, and it was worth coming out here today, and staying with Balam for the remainder of her free time. It just got better and better, relaxing in the desert, a private chat that delved into deeper topics that some would have better or worse views upon, each to their own opinion. Isis just didn't voice hers as much as some, but with the shifter, it was easier to do so. After all, she wouldn't be hit for speaking out, or punished later. A plus to speaking with someone that had no part in slavery at all, just an observer. It was an interesting thing to just watch the world go by, but that seemed what Balam loved to do, and Isis was slightly jealous of him. At least he could note the changes in society, the world, even, if he had been around that long, which he honestly was. However, she didn't yearn for a life like that, and had no intention of provoking anyone to make it so. Whatever happened, happened.

The conversation shifted back to her shiver, that uncomfortable memory from not too long ago. A gentleman to the truest, Balam had told her that she didn't have to speak about it if she didn't want to. But suddenly, the necromancer wished to, to heal more and share, get it off her shoulders, and perhaps earn some help from Balam. "I think that it's for the best if I talk. I won't do it if I don't talk now." It was a now or never sort of chance with Isis, and she didn't want to take the never option. She was afraid of carrying hose memories forever, never really healing from them, mentally and emotionally. It was a hard thing to do, as introverted as Isis was. But that would truly be worth it, hopefully, in the end, to become a stronger person. Balam was right in his opinion of women. They were frail and shaky on the outside, but underneath, there was a strong foundation that little things could shake.

"There were mourners in the graveyard that night. Of course, I didn't speak to them. How could I have interrupted their sorrows? It wouldn't have been right for me to do so, connected as I am with the dead. But there was a Lycan as well, and he just slaughtered them all. A man was pleading for his life, and he just laughed and took it anyway. I shouldn't have spoken, but I did, and that was what set the whole thing off. I don't regret it, but . . I wished things didn't turn out the way they did." Her words came quickly, and Isis now had her eyes closed. It was easier to speak quicker, to get it all out as fast as possible. "He touched me, and there was another woman there. I hate being touched, so I recoiled, and he found sport in toying with me. I'm not sure if you know the Lycan lord, but he turned up at the right time. I left, and didn't think too much of it. A couple days later, there was an intruder in ZaneCorp Tower. I went down to investigate, as I was usually used as protecting Master Lucius. Turns out, it was Dark Fang, the same Lycan."

Isis took a shaky breath, and glanced at Balam. Perhaps she should stop now, and just leave it at that. She shook the thought from her mind, and continued, slower this time, and quietly, more considerate of her words. "He still carried a grudge, and said I should learn my place. I was taken, and beaten. He grabbed me by the neck, and pounded me against the wall of a building in the streets until my body was limp. he knocked me out, and I was taken to the Underground, again." As the necromancer was talking, she slowly sat up, and gently removed the bandages from her neck, and the wounds were still there, the marks of his claws on her skin, not yet fully healed. Isis had been in the Underground many times, and truly left the place when she was given as a present from the Lycans to Lucius Erif, a show of how much they valued the necromancer.

"My story doesn't really have a happy ending, Balam." Her voice was shaky, and Isis brought her hands around her midsection protectively, against an invisible enemy, and drew her legs close to her bound chest. "He-H-He . . whipped me, and t-th-t-then . ." She couldn't say it, her body coming closer to itself, as if to make herself smaller, trembling horrible, uncontrollably. Did she really have to say it? It was easy enough for him to guess what the Lycan had done to her, and she bit on her lower lip, forehead resting against her knees, eyes closed.