I: Hey Emma, do you want to roleplay this next scene in real-time?
Si: Wait, what?!
E: Yeah, sure! You know I'm always down to clown.
I: Hah! Ok, why don't you go take those rags off and shower real quick, then. And don't put anything on--you start this next scene naked.
Si: Wait, what?!
Y: [whistles]
E: [blushes furiously]. Umm, ok. But I'm still chained up [struggles futilely against her bonds].
I: Of course. Yuna? Do you mind?
Y: I mean, I do. But for you, Ingrid? Anything.
R: I have no idea what's about to happen, but I have a feeling it's gonna be good.
Kit leans back against the tub and lets the burning sensation of hot water overwhelm her. Heaving a sigh, she allows herself to acknowledge how emotionally exhausted she is. Ever since she and Ilya were attacked in the night market the previous evening (was that really just yesterday?), she has been on high alert, stressed, anxious. The primal part of her that worries and looks out for her own safety and well-being has been working full-time alongside the 'big sister' part of her that feels the need to watch out for Ilya.
That is, until Ilya wandered off and never came back.
The wave of guilt, worry, and responsibility crashes over Kit like a tsunami, rising above and flooding everything she thought was solid. For what feels like an endless stretch of hopeless minutes, Kit swirls in its dark currents, utterly unmoored, going wherever it takes her, unable to find anything to hold onto.
A sudden noise--a scratching sound, like metal on metal--abruptly brings her back to the surface. Listening intently, Kit grasps onto the sound like a sailor clinging to the flotsam of her ship.
E: Do I hear anything?
I: Make a perception check for me.
E: 10.
I: Not a sound.
A heavy silence ensues, in which Kit hears nothing at all. Grateful for the reprieve, however, Kit moves her legs about in the bath water, eager to keep sounds going, anything to keep her anchored to this moment, to reality. She feels that at any second she could get sucked back under by those dark currents.
Kit glances around, consciously taking in her surroundings. The bathing room she's in is small, paneled with a reddish wood, and roughly tiled. A bucket, sponge, and bar of yellow soap lie on a low stool standing over a drain in one corner of the room. Kit spent a good 20 minutes on that stool scrubbing her body until her skin was pink and a little raw.
It isn't easy undoing Ash's handiwork, Kit muses to herself, a wry smile stealing unexpectedly across her face. At least not if you let her put her hands all over your body while designing your 'costume.' The memory of Ash's hands touching her face, her stomach, her breasts, her ass and thighs ignites a warm tingling between her legs.
Like the entire apartment that Sixto had led them to, the wash room lies in the basement of a larger building. Daylight streams in through an opaque window set in a small well dug out to let light into the basement. Kit doesn't know what sort of building she is in (she had been rather emotionally preoccupied with her temporary role as Ashara's slave at the time they arrived), but she hasn't heard any noises above her getting here earlier this morning.
Maybe a warehouse? she speculated. Or a residence for someone who is often out of town?
In any case, neither Ash nor Six had stuck around long. Both had decided--seemingly independent of the other--to 'work their contacts' in trying to find out where Ilya is being held and how to get to her. Waiting a quarter hour in between departures, each had headed back out into the city, locking the door behind them as they went.
E: Was the sound I heard a minute ago the same as the when Ash and Six locked the door behind them?
Y: Oooh, good thinking, Em!
E: Thanks, babe.
I: Make a history check to see if you can accurately recall the sound.
E: [Rolls]. Oh, that's actually kinda good! 16?
Now that she thinks of it, the sound of the door locking closely resembled what Kit heard earlier.
Is someone trying to get in?
Suddenly alert, Kit scans the room once more. The rags Ash dressed her in for her slave march across Tristanfell lie in a filthy pile in the corner of the room. The shackles she had worn, as well as her own clothes, armor, and weapons were all in the next room over. Listening intently once more, Kit hears nothing. Deciding she'd rather not get caught by the syndicate without any clothes on, however, Kit reluctantly rises up from the hot water. The air feels cool on her wet, bare skin, but she knows the sensation will soon pass in the hot, muggy, Tristanfell summer.
Grabbing the clean towel hanging on the hook by the door, Kit dries herself just enough to avoid leaving puddles on the floor wherever she walks, but not so much that her bath-hot body will have to replace the moisture with sweat right away.
There's nothing worse than sweating right after I've just gotten clean, Kit gripes to herself. Easier said than done this time of year, though.
Kit hangs the towel back on its hook, opens the door to the bathing room, and heads into the apartment. It's small--a bed in one corner, a cooking stove and food preparation counter against the wall in another. An old armchair and a round table made of pine wood occupy the portion of the room nearest the door leading up to the side alley. Two glazed windows--with iron bars bolted onto the outside of the frame, Kit recalls--allow in light without permitting her to see out--or prying eyes to see in.
Knowing her friends won't be back anytime soon, Kit stands naked in the center of the room, in no hurry to do anything. She feels cut off, marooned.
I can't even leave this place. It's not safe for me anywhere in this city. It might not even be safe for me here.
Heaving a sigh that carries the weight of all her raw emotions, Kit pads barefoot across the room to the 'kitchen' where Ash has left a loaf of bread and some cheese for her.
What a thoughtful soul, Kit thinks, managing a slight smile.
E: Aw, thanks, babe!
Y: Anything for you, sexy.
Si: Get a room!
R: Hahaha! You two are adorable.
Taking the serrated bread knife out of its wooden holder, Kit cuts a hunk of bread, her thoughts back to Ilya and what she might be enduring at the hands of the mob.
We'll find you, Ilya. I promise! We'll get you back, and you're going to be ok!
Kit's silent reverie is suddenly ruptured in a burst of noise as the door to the safe house swings open! Startled, Kit flips the knife around in her grip and drops to a crouch facing the door. Her stomach churns with fear as she anticipates half a dozen mobsters flooding into the room.
But, to her surprise, Kit sees just one person--a familiar young woman tensely gripping a hefty wooden club in both hands, eyes frantically darting around the room.
"You?" Kit asks, utterly bewildered.
"Where are they?" the young woman cries, breathing heavily and looking from Kit to the sparse furnishings and back to Kit again.
Realizing she isn't about to battle for her life, Kit relaxes from her crouch. "Where is who? What are you talking about? Why are you here?"
As the adrenaline and fear ebb away, Kit finds herself instead feeling mildly annoyed. The intruder is, without a doubt, the girl from the bullywug swamp. Wisps of light brown hair that had evaded the single, long braid down her back hang across her young face (was she really this young in the swamp, or am I just realizing this now? Kit wonders). She is wearing blue work overalls over a russet colored tunic unbuttoned far enough down to reveal hints of cleavage. The set of her feet betrays a lack of combat training--or any real experience fighting, for that matter--but her tight grip on the club and her grim determination are evidence of ample courage nonetheless.
The young woman looks confused at Kit's response--her sense of danger is still high. "The people who took you here!" she replies, exasperated. "Who else would I be talking about?"
Now it's Kit's turn to look puzzled. "You mean my friends?"
"Friends?!" The young woman retorts, nearly yelling now. "They brought you here in chains!"
Realization begins to dawn on Kit, and as it spreads across her face her would-be rescuer begins to relax as well.
"Ok, can you tell me what's going on?" the young woman pleads as fear and adrenaline are replaced with awkwardness and confusion. She lowers her club and, in the modest light from the opaque windows, looks Kit over. A cherry red blush rises in her cheeks as she realizes her 'damsel in distress' is not wearing anything.
There they are, she thinks to herself, those glorious tits. Every time I see this woman it seems she's naked.
Kit breathes out a long sigh--of relief, of frustration, of embarrassment, of disbelief.
Can this day get any weirder?
"Ok, this is going to sound a little hard to believe, but I wasn't being kidnapped earlier." Her uninvited guest waits in silence for the rest of the explanation. "And I'm not anyone's slave, either."
Kit feels embarrassed to have to say those words, but in the incredulous silence that follows, she realizes with a rush of embarrassment how implausible her last statement must sound. "Well... ok, maybe I was a slave the last time you saw me, but I'm not anymore."
One of Jessica's eyebrows shoots up and her gaze pointedly drops to take in Kit's naked body before rising to meet her eyes again. Kit feels her face burn with shame as she remembers, for the first time since her young friend here barged in and scared her half to death, that her entire body is on display. An instinct of modesty kicks in and Kit finds herself reaching down to shield her pussy with one hand while she covers her nipples with her other arm.
Kit lets out a groan of frustration and humiliation. "I swear to you, I'm not a slave!"
