I Can't Get No Satisfaction

Title: I Can't Get No Satisfaction
Time Period: April 20, 135 A.E.
Characters Appearing:

Summary: Mariah learns that not all of her willing customers are so easy to brush off, these days.

Come springtime, the Dovetail has been quite the busy establishment what with the arrivals of sailors, merchants, and the usual suspects checking in with their favorites or making time while they've got some in port. The militia are also out cruising due to the influx, assigned to patrols or keeping the peace where applicable. Coincidentally a few of those places that are "in need" of patrols are the seedier sides of the town. At nightfall, there are still a few faces out and about despite the recent attacks around town. Brave and foolish souls, both.

Mariah's just been along at a pub, having a few drinks while she avoids work for the night, claiming it to be her night off, whether or not that's true. It's one of several excuses she's been giving lately, especially obvious when the Dovetail is busy, but she isn't exactly. But it's been a nice break for her, taking less clients and cutting out the… rougher fellows in general. She understands better why some other girls has set standards.

For now, she's walking through this particular neighborhood just trying to get from point A to point B, the Dovetail. She's a little tipsy still, which probably accounts for why her scarf is held in a hand to drag along beside her, and why her steps are less than graceful at the moment. But she hums softly to herself, which only proves that it's been a good night so far.

While a cool number of clients have understood Mariah's wishes, she has had to deal with more than a few unsavory characters not being too happy about her lately. How rude, they'd say. Though not exactly like that. More like, she's making a big mistake. Or, wait'll they turn her out into the cold streets of Dornie. A woman who fails at being a woman. And others miserable fates to become of her, all for those excuses.

A pair of militiamen can be seen headed away from the Dovetail, their faces all business as they make their way along the same path as Mariah's. Once closer and in view, she can recognize them as a couple regulars to the house, one of hers and one not. The one not raises his voice to call to her in greeting. "Mariah."

Mariah sees the pair ahead of her, and even though things are a little awkward with her client, she doesn't seem to think anything in particular is wrong and she greets them both with a too-wide, drunken smile.

"Hello, boys," she greets with a lazy salute as she gets closer to them, but it's clear she's not planning to stop to talk, with how her pace stays steady, her feet pointed toward home.

They don't seem keen on stopping either, given as their duties are to take them past her. Mariah's regular doesn't greet her however, offering silence in exchange for her smile. Eyes ahead, he steps past without a word. But it's the non-regular who adds a quick, "Be seeing you later, if you're free" to her. Though he doesn't indicate who, or when, it seems to be an offer. The silent one turns with a surprised glare to his compatriot, starts to say something, but fails at his words. Instead, he looks back at Mariah and her reaction to that invite.

Mariah turns at that, looking over her shoulder as she smiles at the one who's actually speaking up. "It's my night off. But I'm sure there's a girl or two open, if you're keen on tonight. Or you can come see me another night." She's vague enough, in a we'll have lunch sometime fashion, but it's warm enough to be encouraging. That's probably due to the alcohol.

Her smile stays in place as she turns back toward her walk, a foot idly kicking a small rock down the road ahead of her.

Being blown off like that doesn't seem to take too well with the militiaman. "I see," replies the man with a motion to fold his arms together over his chest. It's difficult to say if he's truly disappointed, given that he's not her usual customer. With a shake of his head, he turns to his silent patrol partner and jerks his head to indicate that they'll leave her to her non-business in getting back to the Dovetail.

If she notices the displeasure, Mariah's pretty good at ignoring it. But she's just drunk enough to leave it questionable if she noticed at all. But she goes back to her walk, and back to her humming. Only a bit of a trip over her own two feet breaks the noise with a laugh as she catches herself against a tree. And the humming sounds far more amused from then on as she straightens herself up and continues on.

The woman is left to be alone, her path is interrupted again not by a couple of men blocking her path but by a pair of gloved hands grabbing her roughly around the waist and covering up her mouth. "Shhhhhhhhhhhhh," shushes a voice into her ear.

Mariah yelps against that hand, the sound muffled as she's suddenly pulled back. It's disorienting, given her current state, but she struggles against those arms all the same, elbows and feet flailing about in panic. This is a thing that happens to other people, clearly.

Masque!! is all but shouted through her mind toward her familiar, but as usually, he's lingering in the wilderness around the Dovetail. But headed her way at the call. He's a badger for a reason, and this is that reason.

The arms around her remain firm, strong… familiar. "Don't make this any harder for yourself, Mariah," grunts the soldier as he hauls her back further away from the road and towards the woods. Pretty soon from the corner of her eye, a second shadow denotes the arrival of the second militia, the one spurned just minutes ago.

When her gaze catches that second figure coming back, tears start to form and, for a moment she looks like she might just give up. It isn't like she's some innocent flower. It isn't like it would be entirely unfamiliar. And it is likely to be far more unpleasant if she fights

But it's a thought that lasts about five seconds, because a moment later, she tries something really, really simple. And possibly stupid. But her mouth is, after all, the important thing to get free here and she snaps her head just enough to try to bite at the soldier's hand.

And meanwhile, Masque is making his way quickly along, ready to jump up and attack the second figure as soon as he's close enough.

The stupid tactics are always just that really. Through the thick leather gloves of the man, her teeth bite hard and likely cause bruising with the amount of power a human jaw can provide. That at least earns her a quick smack of her head against a nearby tree in an attempt to daze her. But what was an ill thought out tactic on her part becomes less so when she can hear the pained shout of her assailant's buddy getting the business end of Masque's teeth right on his calf. Badger teeth sink in through the thinner pant clothing and draw blood. Masque is soon buffetted by a flurry of blows trying to knock him loose even as the man limp-dances around in the middle of flailing his fists upon the magic creature.

Her head hitting the tree was not something Mariah expected, but perhaps should have. Or would have, on a better day. She's a little too limp and too easy to toss around to brace against it, so she is left dazed and bleeding as her hand prop up against the tree as she just tries to stay on her feet. And not leaning on her assailant's arm.

Masque tries to dodge the blows as best he can, and opts for a tactic that leans on a lot of quick attacks and leaping back to get out of the way of retaliation before he dives in again. Claws, teeth, he's not shy about using them all where he can.

But as soon as Mariah's head starts to clear, even a little bit, she growls out a low, "Fuck you." It probably only reaches the man near to her, but it's packed full of her particular magic, and leaving him stunned as if it had been his head against the tree instead.

A kick levels out to where Masque is predicted to go, landing a glancing but stinging blow of a thick heeled boot to the familiar before the man loses his footing in the darkness and falls onto the ground. "Get away from me you stupid animal!" he snaps at the badger, hand reaching and drawing out a militia assigned handgun to wave its muzzle in the dark. His shout is impotent in power compared to Mariah's low growled words though, which halt the man in his tracks and give her a change to slip out from his weakened grasp.

And slip out she does, but not only that. She also jams an elbow up toward his face before she dashes off, leaving him to recover from her voice and… etcetera while she runs haphazardly toward Masque. Her foot swings to connect with the fallen militiaman's cheek as she growls at him, too, but a little louder now. "Get," kick, "away," stomp, "from him." Her voice dazes him, too, but her boot heel falls on his gunhand before she twists, which might leave broken fingers in her wake, but she's running on whiskey and adrenaline at the moment. Not smarts.

Her one saving grace is how unlikely it is any militia man, let alone two, would want to admit to a whore besting them in any fashion.

But she stumbles away from him, reaching to scoop up Masque before she opts for running into the trees in an attempt to both get away and get out of sight.

The dazed militia man is struck square on the nose and cheekbone by her elbow, dropping him back rather well as he stumbles and is unable to react outside of grabbing his face - only to further aggravate what's likely a bruised if not broken cartilage and bone. The gun-wielding man who elects not to fire upon the darkness coughs out a pained grunt at the woman's foot to his face, but the real shout of pain comes from the stomp of her boot to his gunhand. That's the downside of delicate finger bones. Leaving them in the dark is the best option, though, and she's lucky enough that they lay where they've fallen and don't give chase after her. The bleeding from the cut on her head may have slowed, but there's no doubt going to be a bruise and throbbing afterwards - and that's not going to be from the hangover.

Mariah runs with her familiar clutched close to her, dodging well enough through the trees while the adrenaline lasts. But when it runs out, she smacks a shoulder into a tree and opts to stop there for a time, sliding to the ground as what were threatening tears become an out and out sob.

Masque slips away from her, himself looking forward to a sore morning, while she curls up against the trunk. But he steps back in a moment later, after shifting from his common badger form into the small deer she knew him as when she was a child. And as he nuzzles against her, she turns to wrap her arms around his neck and cry into his hide instead of her own arms.

I love you. I love you, she repeats to him a number of time, the thoughts flying frantically from her mind to his.

I know, is almost his entire reply, but after a quiet pause, he adds, And I you.