Strangers in the Night, Scene v2

I wanted to re-write it. And yes, it is significantly different.

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Kismet sat at a small table beside one of the windows and looked out at the moonlit streets of Koln. All of the traffic had vanished. Only a few people were returning to their homes from late-night errands. The clouds had cleared and the moon was bright. The stars sparkled luminously against the black night sky while the streets shimmered with a subtle blue. It was a beautiful scene she wished she could’ve shared with Delphi. The longest they had ever spent apart was three days, and it had already been six.

A traveling couple sipped their cups of tea nervously across the lounge, whispering between each other. “Is that—?”

“A furlicker? What is it doing here?”

“Is it safe?”

“I…don’t know. It’s wearing the Rokan colors. Are they using furlickers in their army now?”

Owen set his paperwork aside and approached Kismet. The whispers, the discomfort, it was all too familiar to her. She looked once more at the empty street. It looked so quiet, so lonely, and so peaceful. She rose to her feet and stepped outside before Owen could say anything. “I’ll leave on my own. Sorry for the trouble.”

Kismet closed the door behind her and inhaled the night air. It wasn’t a breath of ‘fresh’ air, as the saying goes. The streets in large towns often reeked of trade goods and waste, but nevertheless, it was peaceful and deserted at night. A hand touched her shoulder as she pulled the hood of her cloak over her head.

“If you’re going to walk around, be back by dawn and try to keep a low profile. The last thing we want is to cause a panic.”

Kismet gave Devin a nod. “Thank you, General. I’m sorry for all of the inconvenience I cause you.”

Devin gave her one last look before returning to the inn. She walked away from the inn into the market district, where only a handful of stores were still open. As she continued toward the entrance of the town, the streets became silent and shrouded in the blanket of night. She looked at the empty streets around her, basking in the peace of night. A silhouette of a cloaked figure peered from around a corner a few buildings ahead. Kismet locked her eyes on the mysterious figure, which quickly disappeared behind the wall. She pursued the suspicious person, heading toward the residential district. Reaching a fork in the road, she looked down the roads for signs of the person until a cry came from the distance. Keeping to the shadows, she darted after the voice.

“Let me go!” cried the cloaked young woman restrained by two men.

The third stripped off her cloak and eyed her up and down. “Well, well, well. Would you look at that? Seems we have ourselves a Kival; and a delicious one at that.” He grabbed her chin with a callused hand, examining her face. “Your kind aren’t supposed to be here. Since there are no guards around, I guess we’ll have to punish you instead.”

The Kival spat in the man’s face and spoke sharply with a voice that sounded oddly familiar to Kismet, “You Lokem disgust me.”

He wiped off his face slowly then punched her in the stomach. He twisted her tunic with his hand and pulled her close to his face with a low, menacing laugh. “I was going to be nice because you were so cute, but now you’re really going to regret that.”

He retracted his arm to hit her face. Kismet darted behind him, wrung his arm behind him, and locked him into a chokehold with her left arm. She twisted his face to hers, baring her fangs with a piercing hiss. He released the Kival’s tunic with a choked gasp of terror and brandished his dagger. The Catheran easily avoided his frantic attempts to stab her. He flailed his arms in desperation while his two accomplices turned to his aid. Kismet quickly swung her captive in the way of their attacks, sending them back. Seeing no other choice, the trapped thug attempted to stab Kismet’s arm. She quickly loosened her hold to move her arm out of the way. The thief cried out in pain as he plunged his dagger into his own shoulder.

Kismet left him groaning in pain and gasping for air on the ground. She stepped toward his accomplice on her right. He backed away cautiously, his knife held out in front of him. The second remaining thug lunged at her back. Kismet shifted to the side and gripped her attacker’s wrist. He dropped his knife as the Catheran twisted his wrist sharply. Kismet thrust her arm upward into his, dislocating his shoulder, filling the air with a scream of agony.

The final thug slashed at Kismet, nicking her across the face. She retaliated with a swipe that gouged his arm. She bared her fangs at him with a threatening hiss that sent him fleeing into the night.

Kismet picked up the fallen cloak and offered it to the Kival. She quickly took the cloak and backed into a wall. The Catheran gazed into her face. She looked to be no older than twenty. Her tanned skin, sharp facial features, black hair and black eyes clearly marked her of Kival descent; but nevertheless, she seemed to fall under what people considered attractive.

She stared back with a brave front, but the fear in her eyes, and the trembling of her hands that clung onto her cloak tightly hinted otherwise.

“Are you okay?” Kismet stepped toward her. She shifted along the wall to further the distance between them, while slipping her cloak back on. The Catheran took another cautious step toward the Kival, but she ran into the night. Kismet watched her silhouette fade into the darkness, a sight that felt all too familiar. When the Kival disappeared from sight, it was then she realized who she was. She had seen that woman before, heard her voice before; that silhouette.



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