( closed ) chase music doesn't have convenient lyrics

[champions]

WHO: Marisol, Nikos, Kostos
WHAT: Nevar Gonna Run Around & Desert You Northern Powers assignment
WHEN: [ mumbles vaguely ]
WHERE: Nevarra
NOTES: mood

There isn’t a lot of time. The assignment had been informative. She would say it had gone well. Not smoothly, though, and it wouldn’t have gone well until they had all managed to get out of there alive.

She vaults onto the carriage with a grace that should not be possible when tightly bodiced and wearing a layered gown, but doing the impossible is practically her signature move. With a dramatic crack of the reins, the carriage starts forward, the four black horses surging forward.

It will help, certainly. That does not guarantee that their pursuers will not be close behind them, and she still needs to find Nikos and Kostos. Shortcuts will be necessary.

A sharp turn to the right, and the carriage bursts through a veritable wall of fresh produce, a rain of watermelons, oranges, berries, fruit of every kind. Bright colours splatter the ground, and even cabbages are trampled underfoot.

The race is on, as she guides the carriages towards the Anderfel ambassador’s estate.

Marisol is standing on the carriage, black hair streaming behind her, with a number of men on foot and on horseback in pursuit, and the knowledge that soon more will come. She grins, exhilarated.

Comments

[exsecutus]

"Move," Nikos hisses at his brother, and shoves him in the back.

There are telling differences between the Averesch brothers, if one knows what features to look for in order to do the telling. If they were face to face, in this moment, then glaring at Kostos would be very much like glaring into a mirror with distortions: less shadow of stubble, thinner in the face, less puffy under the eyes. Less prone to showing too much teeth when he smiles, the few times that he does smile.

Neither Nikos nor Kostos are smiling now, but are hastily moving down a tight spiral of a staircase in the ambassador's estate, which smells peculiarly of anise. Even the papers Nikos has stashed in his cloak will probably smell like anise, which means his cloak will smell like anise, probably for the rest of his life, which will not be a very long one if Kostos doesn't stop taking up the whole fucking staircase.

"You're taking up the whole fucking staircase," Nikos tells the back of Kostos' head. Throughout his life, he has talked, mostly, to the side of Kostos' head, but he is still familiar with the sight of the back of his head, as he has spent a great deal of the earlier parts of his childhood glaring at the back of his brother's head. "And for what? You can't even pick the lock when you get to the bottom."

Marisol will be arriving any moment. Please let it be any moment, which is a prayer that Nikos would probably revise, if he knew the eventual style of Marisol's entry. If he could see the runaway carriage with loose hair routine, he would revise his prayer to instead be, please let the earth open up and swallow me whole. For now, he is in ignorance, and in irritation that he has ended up crammed into a narrow stairwell with his stupid brother. Whatever Marisol thought she was doing by inviting the two of them along will deserve its own series of complaints. After they are out of this tower and back on their way to Kirkwall.

[exequy]

Nikos has an advantage, being behind him. He can push forward without losing momentum, and there isn’t time for Kostos to turn around and shove him back. But there is time—or he can make time, anyway, since it’s important—for stopping abruptly on the stairs and leaning back into the planned collision with his elbow ready and aimed for the gut.

“Get faster,” he says along with the jab, and then he’s back to scrambling down the stairs.

That isn’t fair, not even a little. Kostos was first onto the stairs because he was first through the door, and he was first through the door because Nikos was the one to find the papers, then the one to make sure they weren’t lost in the hasty retreat. He will also, as he says, be the one to pick the lock at the bottom. Despite Marisol’s initial insistence on a scheme that relied on their near-identical faces, Kostos increasingly convinced he could have stayed home. Increasingly convinced he’s never speaking to Marisol again, too. Life will be a lot easier that way if he does, in fact, survive to live it, which feels suddenly less likely when there’s a clatter and clank from somewhere below them on the stairs.

Kostos comes to another abrupt stop, this time with his arms braced on the stone walls to stop Nikos from barreling over or past him. Clanking below. Above, the door they’d barred is still being rattled. Some number of swords is definitely involved in this overall situation.

But there’s a narrow window a few steps below, and a canal not too many feet beyond the tower wall, and somewhere in the city streets outside of it, a trail of dust and scattering birds in Marisol’s wake.

Kostos doesn’t point out any of those facts. He says, “They will hang us both to make sure they don’t have it wrong.”

Instead of only hanging Nikos, which would clearly be preferable.

[exsecutus]

There are a lot of things that Nikos could have said, in the moments between Kostos elbowing him and the moment where he jumps out a window with his brother.

At first: he can't say any of the things that he otherwise might have said, for lack of breath, because Kostos' elbow strike drove the air out of him. Get faster? Fuck you, but he's winded, and running is not as easy as it should be, he doesn't run, this is idiotic.

Then: he can't say any of the things that he otherwise might have said, because just as he's catching his breath, Kostos stops midstairwell and Nikos walks right into him. All his spare breath is then taken up by a string of swearwords which arrest, abruptly, as he catches on to what Kostos has already heard.

And then: he can't say any of the things that he otherwise might have said, because some supernatural twin sense has overtaken him, makes him look to the narrow window just beyond where they're stood on the stairs. It's that, or the window is the only other way out of this narrow tower besides through armed guards who will, at the very, least bind them in chains, so looking at the window is the logical choice.

Nikos prepared for this mission in part by studying plans of the ambassador's estate. He knows as well as Kostos that the canal is there. He knows that they're fucked but for this one choice.

"Shut up," he says to Kostos. If that is the last thing he says to his brother, he's okay with that.

The door above them bursts open just then. The sound of it striking against the wall makes Nikos jump, which bumps him into Kostos, which sends Kostos stumbling forward a few steps, because Nikos is larger and weightier and, fuck, but at least the window is there now. Or maybe that should be fuck, the window is there--

"Why don't we just kill them, why are we jumping out a shitting window--"

A rhetorical question. Of course he wouldn't. What do you call a man that kills everyone, instead of his specific target? A madman. And even so, of course they can't. For one, they don't have time. Bad enough that they will be glimpsed at all. By the tits of Andraste, why did he agree to do this with company, he works better alone, this is stupid, stupid, stupid, and Nikos shoves past Kostos on the last few steps and grabs hold of the windowsill, hoists himself up. The canal is far below. Nikos has jumped from heights before. This is probably the highest.

"For fuck's sake," he mutters. Grabs his cloak, pulls it around himself tight and, less-than-gracefully, jumps out the window.

[exequy]

It isn't twin sense that gives Nikos the idea, because the idea isn't one that occurred to Kostos. It isn't one that would have occurred to Kostos, who has never jumped out of a window in his life, and who, despite playing at subterfuge when the mage cause called for it, still lags several years behind Nikos in experience with this sort of complete and utter fucking bullshit.

Why are they jumping out a shitting window, indeed.

But killing them isn't an option, no, and Kostos' next idea is surrendering, so.

So.

Nikos is out the window before he finishes deciding that he agrees it's the thing they ought to do, and Kostos takes three steps at once to lean out after him, unaware of the canal until he sees it and, by that time, already casting: a hand gesture that makes the blue-white light of spirits bloom around his brother's dropping form, ready to absorb an impact with stone that isn't actually coming. Pity they can't also absorb moisture.

And that uses all two of the seconds Kostos has to spare before the clattering footsteps on the stairs are too close and he doesn't actually have time to consider whether perhaps he's afraid of heights and only just now having the opportunity to learn that for certain, he's jumping either way, and thinking on the way down that those clattering feet probably come with crossbows attached, and they are going to get tangled in their clothes in the canal and be shot through by bolts, and this is Nikos' fault somehow, and Marisol is never coming, and—

That's too many thoughts for a drop this short, but he's talented enough at cynicism to think them in shorthand before the splash, at which point they're all erased and replaced by the realization that the water is filthy and tastes it.

[champions]

No matter how bold and daring their lives, Marisol will never be at ease with seeing her loved ones leap out of a window. Yes, very brave, and necessary for the getaway, but terrifying. Behind her she can hear distant yells from people chasing her on foot, but at least they have enough time (she hopes, and perhaps even prays) to get her two troublesome cousins out of the water and onto the carriage.

(There is a secondary concern with the water, beyond injury; did they not get the documents?)

Without hesitation, she leaps down from the carriage, and a glyph of ice waiting to explode on a trigger forms on the path between the estate and where she is stooping down to reach for whichever of the troublemakers grasps at her hand first.

"Quickly," she says, in the way a scolding mother might chastise her children for taking too long to ready for breakfast. Generally speaking, of course, one wouldn't expect a crossbow bolt to fly past you when preparing for breakfast (although really one should never make assumptions in Antiva.)

The horses are tossing their manes, breathing heavily, and they must move fast if they wish to make the boat. "The last one of you to get on that boat will be forced to spend a whole week at a fashion retreat, I mean it."

[exsecutus]

Nikos' fall toward the water is short, barely time enough to register that momentary coil of dread when the light of Kostos' summoned spirits converge around him. It's old animal instinct, childish, ugly and complex, nothing that he wants to confront--a rise like bile that he shoves down just before he hits the water.

He would, afterward, say that the impact was not as bad. He would, reluctantly, admit to being something like grateful for that. The second splash of his brother's impact registers dimly as he's fighting his way to the surface. When he breaks it, he does it clumsily. Sucks in a lungful of foul water instead of air and, momentarily, dips beneath again. His cloak is dragging at him, pulling at his throat, but the case carrying the papers is trapped close to him thanks to the cloak; he can't just strip it off.

Fuck.

He fights back up again, clawing at the water. There's sound there, when he makes it--lights, too--distant, and the noise, maybe from the tower--but a voice, familiar, if thin and sharp. Marisol's face swims into blurry view, there at the dark edge of the canal. Not that far. The canal is only so wide.

If Kostos were nearby, Nikos would probably shove him the fuck aside, so he can go for Marisol's hand. He does not particularly fear her threat. In fact he has barely registered her threat, too conscious of the water that has made its way into his ears, where it will, probably, dribble all the way down the ear canal and into his brain, and he will die. Of dirty water on the brain.

The side of the canal, when he reaches it, is slick, slimy stone and mud. Nikos doesn't waste breath with oaths. He hauls his way out, and then he hunches his shoulder up and rubs it against his ear. Difficult to do in a water-logged cloak.

"Shut up," he says, this time to his cousin. "What the fuck is this carriage? Where's a quiet--" Disgusted, he spits canal water to the side of the canal, "fucking escape--"

[exequy]

"Go," Kostos interjects, only halfway out of the water but making progress—no cloak is weighing him down, only boots and two decades since he swam in earnest—one of the first things he looked for was the water, on the long walk from Ansburg to Andoral's Reach, but he only waded out to his hips, he's only bathed in streams—and this is disgusting—and what sort of fashion retreat? That matters.

A bolt clatters against the side of the canal. A miss by several feet. His first instinct is to look back toward the source, offended, but it only manifests as a twitchy head movement before he focuses on hoisting himself out of the water, then climbing up onto his feet without pausing, then herding his relatives around to the other side of the carriage, at least, to have a shield during their bickering. To do that he doesn't need to grab Nikos by a fistful of cloth on his back, like a puppy by the scruff, but he tries anyway.

It would possibly, probably, be smarter to just get into the carriage, without the detour to the other side of it. But he has grimy water in his eyes, and he's doing his best.

hello yes I'll take "I'm the worst" for 500, please

[champions]

Marisol has the good grace - and pragmatism - to not shove Nikos back into the water.

"Be grateful you have any escape at all," and though it isn't a warning to them, for most others it would be. For most others, she would not risk such an ostentatious escape route, but their other options had been limited, and better this than risking her cousins' lives with nothing at all. Oh, those dead bodies? Can't say I recognise them.

Kostos is ushering her, and she sweeps past him to, instead, slash the straps and pull the four horses away from the carriage. They are massive things, tall and broad, with long back manes and feathering coats from hock down to hoof. Much to her dismay, Nikos is right. The carriage is too much, and this might be better.

"I hope you both remember how to do this," she says, before vaulting up onto the horse with far too much poise and ease for someone wearing such (elaborate? ruffly?) expansiveskirts. "Kostos," she adds, perhaps more pointedly, because he does have grimy water in his eyes and he is doing his best. "Do you need to ride behind me?"

But they may not have that luxury; even with the carriage for cover, they are beginning to lose the time their leap and her (alarming?) expert carriage driving had bought them. Each of them to a horse might be their only hope, now.

boop-boop-boop wrong

[exsecutus]

"Stop it, stop touching me--"

Kostos grabbed a handful of cloak before Nikos even had opportunity to go--and it's a good thing that Marisol is the only witness; if it was anyone else, Nikos would kick shins and slash hands to get free, instead of just bitching.

He wrests himself free even as Marisol starts freeing horses. Crossbow bolts clatter and thud against the other side of the carriage--no relentless barrage, but enough that a point is made. Nikos shoves his hand under his sodden cloak, a man reaching for a talisman, except his version of a talisman is a compulsive gesture that makes double sure the documents are secure, before he vaults his arse onto a horse.

"It should have been horses in the first place--just horses, none of this showy, stupid--" The documents are, still, secure, because he is a professional. He can now turn his attention to horses--who are not saddled, bridled, brilliant, and he has never liked horses, mostly because they have never liked him. And he will inevitably be less graceful than Marisol, when he mounts up. She is very much that bitch, which Nikos thinks with a kind of sharp fondness.

Case and point: her offer to Kostos. Even under fire and with threats nipping at the wet heels of their boots, Nikos takes a moment to turn a look on his brother. There is real relish in the smirk that he turns on him.

"The legendary charity of an Antivan lady." Except, "Two silver says Kos would rather die."

With a grunt of effort, the use of the spokes of the nearest carriage-wheel as a boost, and only a little scrambling, Nikos pulls himself up into the saddle of his chosen horse. As expected, he paints a decidedly less graceful image, and his face is a little pink when manages to right himself and sit proper. It's only half his fault. All of the horses are nervous, shifting hooves and rolling eyes and wide nostrils snorting in this sweet Nevarran air.

always here to outdo everyone in that category

[exequy]

Something about Marisol—her resemblance to aunts and mothers and sisters, but more important her unflappable self—makes her someone that Kostos can't tell where to shove her charity, so it's convenient that Nikos immediately makes himself a target for that sentiment and then some.

"Fuck off."

Which is two silver for Nikos, if anyone is willing to honor it, and a horse for Kostos, who has never ridden bareback in his life but has ridden across Thedas and back in the last few years, and who's more limber and precise than he's ever been speedy or strong. Getting on is easy. Staying on will be the problem. He realizes that immediately, with the animal shifting and stomping, but there isn't time to reconsider trading his dignity for a better guarantee of survival, because it's about then that the guards in pursuit find their way outside, with swords.