Not While I'm Around

[Anya de la Rose]

((Title credit to Stephen Sondheim.))

November 30, 2021

"It's one woman, how hard can it be?"

"But what if her friend is there?"

Voices drifted down the alley between the Old Temple ruins and the newer Temple of the Gods. Sound always seems to carry better in the dark. At this time of night, with her hearing, Anya might as well have been next to the small group muttering amongst themselves. She paused in the mouth of the alley, still in the cover of the crumbled old walls. There were things here that piqued her interest.

"All the more reason. You have any idea how much the silk traders would pay for a spider that size?" a third man had joined in.

A fourth offered the voice of reason. "I don't care about the spider. Our deal was just the hunter. We get her, we leave."

At least four, this close to home, talking about spiders and hunters. Anya's head swiveled to look up the road. The lights in her house were out, the curtains were drawn. Those were the rules at Domus. She should be there too, if it weren't for the weeks of distrusted sleep causing her to lose her usual schedule. Tonight, she had been walking. And now, she was slipping into the shadows of one wall and emerging in the deep black darkness of another closer to the hunters.

The four men, dressed in less armor than they should have been for their quarry, had their heads together while they passed pills and flasks. Potions, maybe. Or drugs. Something to make them feel big and strong before they left the shadows they thought protected them. They didn't notice the black webbing slowly knitting itself over the mouth of the alley. Their focus was on the artificial courage they could feel taking hold, fuzzing their brains.

Two sounds came rapidly. First, a low growl. Then, a gentle, drawn out Shhhhhhh. The four heads whipped to the source of the sounds. The woman they found there had the index finger of her left hand raised to her lips. Her right hand rested at hip level on the hunched shoulders of a massive black hound. The shadows wreathing the creature spread far enough to obscure her lower legs and feet, leaving only a long brown jacket, cream mittens, and dark, dark eyes staring out from beneath a hood.

The hound turned to look up at Anya. Her eyes flicked down to meet its stare and she nodded. The silence broke when everyone moved but her.

Two of the hunters felt the blanket of her spell wrap around them. Their eyelids dropped gently shut as they slumped against each other and slid to the ground, deeply asleep. The third and fourth ran towards the main street only to be overtaken by the hound in three bounding strides. He leapt at the slower of the two, knocking the runner off his feet with both forepaws and driving him to the ground. The fourth man redoubled his efforts, rushing headlong towards the web that stood still unseen between him and escape.

"Stop." Anya's voice dipped low to find the place in her throat where scars would never heal. The growled command acted as a solid wall before the fleeing hunter. He stopped, arms limp at his sides.

"Turn around." She spoke quietly.  To him, it was a whip crack. He spun so quickly he nearly stumbled. His darting eyes were the only additional movement, swiveling wildly, searching for the strings that controlled him now until they settled on his companion under the hound. He watched, fixated, while intestines unspooled on the frozen ground. So intense was his focus that he didn't realize Anya had moved until she was in front of him.

"Are you still in there?" She didn't sound angry anymore. A clinical interest had settled into her manner. The hunter nodded once.

"Can you feel this?" She pulled the mitten off her right hand and dug the thumbnail up, pricking the soft tissue under his chin. He nodded again, pressing involuntarily harder into the nail when he did. Anya smiled.

"Good. Who were you hunting?" She paused for the answer and then remembered. "Speak," she snarled. Next to her, the hound let out a low whoof that echoed in the alley. Anya's lips twitched into another, gentler smile that she turned on the beast. She nodded back to the sleeping men they'd left behind. It trotted off to finish its meal.

The man in front of her found his voice. "The hunter, the… the slayer. She lives down the street. Dark hair, black eyes."

"And the spider?"

"It was going to be next. Big silver thing."

"You don't know names?"

"No. No names."

"Were you hired?"

"No. We heard and we asked around, and we thought it would be easy money."

There were sounds behind her, back down the alley. Anya stepped to the side. His eyes followed her, until she'd moved enough that he could see what was happening down there, where they'd come from. She waited, watching his face impassively while he in turn watched the shadowy hound tear out first one throat then the next from the unconscious men. Only a few gurgles from each of them before the end. That's how it goes. She would know. Can't even get the strength to cough when the muscle is gone.

There could have been more questions. He was hoping there would be more questions. Something she needed explained or some reason to let him go. But he couldn't lie to her and now she knew that there was nothing more here. From the sheath strapped to her right thigh, she pulled a long knife. Slitting his throat was a smooth continuation of the draw. She dropped the thick hold of her own will over him to give him a chance to react.

When he dropped to his knees with his hands clapped to his bleeding neck, she watched. She only turned away when he fell forward onto the cobblestones. The hound had dissipated, its limit for time on this plane had passed. And Anya, finding herself alone, began to clean.

She walked to the center point of the four bodies. First the two in back were dispatched. She folded her arms across each other, low on her body. When she pulled them apart again, two waves of force boomed through the alley and swept away the dead men into dust. The two near the exit got the same treatment, with the force impacting harmlessly against the webbing before it could carry into the streets. Anya pushed her hair out of her face with her left hand, her right waved in front of her to dismiss the web. There were no signs left but the drifting dust motes and the blood stains.

On her way back to the street, she pulled her mitten back on. Turning left, she started for home. The Temple of the Gods was right there, nearly on her own doorstep. As she passed it by, she looked up at the looming structure and blew a sound like a laugh out through her nose. "Lot of help you've been," she grumbled at the closed door. Then shoved her hands into her pockets and ducked her head. The sounds from the alley had attracted the attention of the Guard. She didn't meet their eye as a pair of them jogged past her, shouting to two of their companions who were approaching from the other direction.

By the time they found the dusty bloodstains, they'd forgotten about the woman in the plain brown coat.

[Static Rest]

A limousine — specifically a stretched 1984 Lincoln Town car from the 1995 film Desperado — pulled up the street facing the alley and squeaked to a stop at a sudden sharp noise from the back seat, concealed behind tinted windows. While Watch officers milled about the crime scene, scratching their heads over the scant evidence and looking for witnesses, the passenger of the limo rolled down the tinted window for a better look(?).

No passenger could be seen from most angles, but with the sound of luggage hinges, the lid of a Seward trunk rose just into view. A few seconds later, a bulky car phone rose shakiky up to lid level, as if a movie prop held on a string. The phone dialed, rang, and connected.

Nothing was said at all on the call, yet something was clearly communicated. One very clear idea:

>:[

The trunk ended the call when he noisily ate the phone. The window rolled up. The limo pulled away.

[Stitch]

On the rooftop of Iristica Imports opposite the alley in question, a familiar silhouette sat with long legs dangling over the edge. An airy chuckle occasionally escaped munching jaws as the hooded thing dug into a paper bag. Limos. Roombas. Cops. A member of the Watch pointed, and another leaned in to mutter something while the Jackal tossed a middle finger up, and aimed a mighty loogie in their direction.

Splat.

Feet swung back over the edge, flat side, and a cackle echoed behind.

[Suturi]

An imp (not literally) wandered the streets near Iristica, peering this and that as her head canted almost fully upside down. She was wearing pants on her torso and arms and a shirt (neck hole at her feet) through her legs. A single shoe perched precariously atop silver spiked hair.

"Now where did I put that door...." Sniggering, she ignored anyone who might be around, diving for gold with a finger in a nostril.

Then.... oh... a precious glob. Bending down with a gleeful cackle, she licked up the loogie from the ground and wandered on her way.

[SirStabbingtonRoomba]

Several Roomba's had soon made their way to the scene after the call from Olaf, the lead one equipped with a knife held in a Lego arm, each of the others equipped with various weapons, Butcher knives, chain saws, one was even equipped with a table saw.

The leader stopped, and if a roomba could stare it did, there was a series of beeps, each of the others deployed to stand guard, while it proceeded to... slurp? Up the mess.

Moments passed, before the roombas made their departure, passerbys on the streets stepping out of the way as the small army departed to do roomba things.