[VIKING] When It Rains, It Pours (Vittorio/Amen/Mitra/Fyffe)

[Painted Moose]

The clouds resembled Vittorio’s mood. Each was heavier than the last, pregnant with the storms that ravaged the land, and not a single ray of sunshine in sight. He stood outside in it, despite the calls from his fellow lions in the Viking band to come inside the large den they had taken hold of. In the wake of his greatest victory was his also his greatest defeat; everything Mirashi had said about him was right. Even if it hadn’t been his plan to capture the thralls in their band, he might as well have been the one to shackle the chains on their legs.

“Won’t you come inside with the others, Master?” Amenophis was a little unused to this role. He already had growing welts on his back and face from the others; lessons, is what they called it. A beating for every time he tried to pretend like he was worthy of their time. Even now he was being watched, and he felt their eyes on his tanned fur. “You’re going to catch cold out here.”

“You might as well go in and get a good nights rest.” Came the cool voice of Mitra as she made herself known. She too came out with the thrall to see to Vittorio’s health. While he wasn’t high on her list of priorities, she had no desire to carry him back to the pride because he caught ill. The lioness snarled into the rain, “This isn’t likely to let up any time soon. We’ll head out in the morning.” She looked sidelong to the tan lion at her side, and felt a pang of sadness when he turned his gaze away from her.

While some had looked to her in complete and total awe, all Mitra could feel was contempt from the thralls she had captured. They were HERS, as it had been her strategy that caught them, but even the one who was willing to stay wouldn’t speak to her. She could still see the claw marks around his eyes from her own paw.

Frowning, Vittorio turned to look her in the eye, and out of the earshot of the others, he murmured, “Is this how you wanted it? You’re a Reaver now, but you look as sick as I feel.”

Amenophis perked, and looked at Mitra for the first time since joining the band. She had pretended to be a helpful hand, offering safety and warmth to both he and Fyffe, which had ended with them being jumped by a pawful of lions. He turned to see Fyffe entering the chat, having come out with Mitra but keeping good enough distance so as not to be associated with her. If Amenophis detested her, Fyffe downright loathed her.

They won’t set us free. Fyffe knew that, even before the two “new” Reavers started talking. If the female had wanted to then she wouldn’t have called her friends to jump them, and then bit the back of his neck when he wasn’t looking. She had knocked him out, but it was terrifying to think of just how easily she could have killed him. He reached back to rub the sore spot, unintentionally rubbing dirt into the wound and bringing out a hiss.

“Stop touching that.” Mitra snapped at Fyffe, snorting with pride when he jumped to do her command. He was as stiff as a stone, and it brought a sick pleasure to her. This was how she had seen many a banu act before their Pads, but now….Well, times were different, weren’t they? “Vittorio, wasn’t this your idea? You wanted to do the Viking so you brought us all out here in this atrocious storm, and for what? To bail out when things get tough?”

“We’re slavers Mitra, or haven’t you noticed that?” He motioned to the pair of lions at their sides grimly. “We could have gotten loot, or a large prey beast, or….or something better than this.”

Amenophis and Fyffe exchanged a growling look. Their lives were nothing more than some chunk of meat, or a trinket?

“This was the easiest path.” She stated simply, when she raised her paw, Amenophis dropped to the ground in an instant, and when Fyffe didn’t she brought it down on the back of his neck, digging her claws into his wound. The act brought him to his paws. “They may not be able to hear us, but we’re being watched and I refuse to allow myself to be seen as weak. I’m not exactly fond of this, but it’s like, Vittorio, so you’d better get used to it.”

Mitra would kill for her family and their reputation, but could Vittorio do the same? He looked at the pained look on Fyffe’s face, the blood on the lioness’ blue paw and the fear in Amenophis’ soft eyes. Sighing, he gulped and turned his head to the sky. “You want me to be okay with this, but I can’t. These are the last thralls I’m taking, and if I’m called less of a male for it, then that’s fine.”

He walked away from her, back to the den where the others were waiting, and after he had gotten comfortable Vittorio watched Mitra lead the others back to the group. They were a ragtag bunch, with the vast majority being male, and the most vicious a blue, spotted female.

-----

Amenophis waited until the others had gone to sleep before closing in on Fyffe. He nudged the older male, poking him in the side a few times before tugging on his ear.

“Whhhaattt?” Fyffe groaned, lolling his head to the side.

Hurriedly covering his mouth with a paw, Amenophis shook his head. “Shh, you gotta keep quiet or they’re going to wake up.” When Fyffe caught on he pulled his paw away, using it for a pillow instead. “I’m sorry about this, Fyffe. I shouldn’t have asked her for help….”

“You’re god damn right you shouldn’t have.” Fyffe hissed. “That b***h is crazy. She looks like a Goddess on the war path, and you got us caught up in it.” He shook his head and moved around, trying his best to shift until his back was to Amenophis, but that was easier said than done when surrounded by so many lions. With a few grunts and groans he managed though. “I hope your new Master tricks you with friendship, too, and then burns you when you trust him.”

Amenophis lowered his eyes with a sigh. He buried his face in his paws, listening to the pitter patter of rain outside and tried to hide the tears in his eyes. Surely it wasn’t that uncommon to hear a thrall crying in the night, right?

He just hoped he wouldn’t be beaten for it.

(WC:1127)  

[Painted Moose]

The sky was a little brighter this morning, but the mood between the quad hadn’t livened any. Now all three males refused to look at Mitra, but two of the three refused to look at Vittorio, and one of the remaining two didn’t want to breathe the same air as the other.

Leaving Amenophis lost in a sea of drama.

“This could be worse,” He spoke aloud, to no one in particular. It was better than yawning the entire walk, which he had been doing since they started at sunrise. His legs drug on in front of him, plodding on in the shale on their way up the coast. “I used to look at cubs, anyway, so I can do that again. Tending to dens and following orders isn’t that hard, either, so I don’t think this should be all that hard.”

Vittorio cringed. Was this male seriously trying to rationalize his own slavery? He couldn’t blame him, seeing as he’d do the same thing if he were in that position, but it bothered him, like claws on a stone. “You’re going to be beaten.”

“Already happened.”

“Spat on.”

“Old news.”

“Kicked, degraded, made to eat your own-“

“Done, done, and done.”

Vittorio stopped to look at Amenophis; really look at him, and wandered what kind of things his fellow Reavers had done to haze in the new recruit. It seemed almost cruel in a way, the smile that Amenophis gave him in return.
The Thrall was ready to return to his mistress when he felt a stern, yet gentle, paw on his shoulder. When he looked up he saw Vittorio looking into the sun drenched distance, posing like an action hero.

“So long as you are with Mitra she will see that you come to no harm. She will bluff in front of the others, but neither she, nor her family, will harm the two of you. Of that I can be sure.” He nodded, so sure it in his conviction that it ached. “I’m sorry that this befell you…I really, really am. My mate told me this wasn’t the way to go, but I…I guess I just didn’t listen like I should, you know?”

Amenophis nodded, a little soft look on his face. “You’re Kimya’s son, aren’t you?”

Surprised showed on his face, and Vittorio narrowed his gaze. “How do you know my father?”

“I was an adolescent when the pride fell, and I was studying under your father.” Amenophis looked to the side and sighed, then spoke through gritted teeth. “I’m sure he would be proud to see how far his son has gone.”

Feeling as if he had been burned by fire, Vittorio watched as Amenophis walked to catch up with the main band, leaving the white lion behind. His father…? Gods above, what if his father had been captured instead of that male? Vittorio felt bile rise in his throat.

How was he ever going to tell Mirashi? Or Liran? Vittorio bit his lip, inhaled and then exhaled slowly. He couldn’t. As long as he lived he would never tell them that he had a hand in the capture of these two. They would never know what happened on the Viking so long as none of the others spoke of it, and since they were in a different social circle that shouldn’t be hard.

He just had to keep it under wraps, was all. Quiet as the dead.

(WC: 573)
 

[Painted Moose]

Mitra sashayed steadily with the lion known as Fyffe by her side. Despite the wound to his neck he seemed unharmed, which pleased her greatly. Word had already spread that she was a strict mistress who kept a tight leash on her things, and Fyffe was indeed hers now.
“What is your mate going to think? Or your family?” Fyffe murmured, low enough so that she could hear, but loud enough to be sarcastic. He wasn’t pleased about this at all, and s**t, if Amenophis had actually tried to fight they probably wouldn’t even be in this jam.
“He will likely not speak to you, probably hoping you’ll disappear, but after a while I would assume he would be fine with it.” Or so she hoped. In truth Mitra wasn’t sure how Kame was going to react at all. So far as he knew she was only out on a Viking to bring back loot, which had been the goal, until she found the two males. “You should know I have a daughter, and if you so much as look at her I will flay you alive myself and create a cloak for her with your pelt. Do I make myself clear?”
“Crystal.” Fyffe gulped, nodding fervently when he looked her way and exhaling sharply when she turned her head away. Gods, what have I gotten myself into this time? Sure, he was an arrogant punk a**, his mother had even said so, but did he really deserve this? Mitra had kicked his a** a few times since being out here, and so had her “friends”, but at least she talked to him, which was a change.
Looking over his should, Fyffe saw the remnants of his old life disappear. The music, the dances, the days of glee with a large family; all gone in the blink of an eye. His mother would never know what happened to him, and that was the saddest to him. She had already lost a mother, and now a son…..
“I’m sorry, mother,” He murmured.
“What was that?” Mitra snapped.
“Nothing, mistress!”

(WC: 34 cool