An Interesting Assignment [Lil x Sum x Mur x Open]

[Murdoch]

The desert is remarkably dull.

It may seem like a strange place to start, but then most beginnings aren’t terribly wise or deep or even interesting. The main purpose of an opening line is to capture your attention, and that line certainly got you wanting to read on, did it not? If only to find out where it would go from there, or how I would justify starting on such an uninspired line. My justification is that it’s a fact; all there is in the desert is sand, sand, sand, some rocks and – guess what? – more sand. Earthquakes? Includes sand and rock. Sandstorms? Includes sand. Heatstroke? Sand factors into that as well. By all accounts, then, the desert is a rather repetitive place. Of course, that is the definition of a desert; ‘a repetitive stretch of land which has no obvious signs of life’. Of course, a desert could be one of sand, one of tundra, one of rock…sand isn’t a prerequisite.

Regardless of the type of deserts there can be, though, this one is a sandy one. The sand rolls in dunes and hills as far as the eye can see, stretching off into the horizon in all directions, barely a cactus in sight. There are occasional clumps of rocks peppered around, but it is far preferable to stay on the sand; the rocks get hotter that the sand, and are more uneven and harder, if you wish to sleep on them. Of course, you won’t wake up in the morning and find that the rock has shifted to be on top of you (unless you’re really unlucky). The sun beats down mercilessly on the unsheltered, constantly sandy terrain beneath, scorching anything that dares to show its face in this most inhospitable of areas. There are those who can survive in this kind of terrain, and they enter this area to seek solitude, but for the most part the desert is completely still and devoid of any life. The only movements come from the slight breeze that picks up the surface layer of sand, wafting it lazily about to come to rest on top of a sand dune a few hundred feet away.

From the sky, everything looks the same. A massive expanse of browny-yellow land, surrounded by blue and green and browns on all sides, the signs of life, the yellow like a blister on the planet. No civilisation has yet seen fit to build anything more than a small town in this massive area, and so it remains largely uninhabited, save for the creatures that have evolved to be able to call it home.
Zoom in, to the northern most part of the desert, only a hundred or so miles away from the northern green area. A small speck is visible on the side of an otherwise unremarkable sand dune, something that isn’t a rock or a cactus. Zoom in again, and the shape begins to take form; it’s a four legged creature, midnight black, looking around lazily as it waits for something, the small cart tethered to its flanks slowly sinking into the sand. A horse and carriage is not something often seen in this desert, and most certainly not in this part of the bleak landscape; merchants rarely come through here, and when they do they never leave their horses and wagons unattended; if you wander too far, you could easily lose it in the vast stretches of sand and rocks. So the question is; where is the driver?

A patch of sand – before now perfectly still – begins to stir. It could just be the wind, picking up another layer of sand to carry across the sky, but it can’t be; this is one specific patch that is moving, and the areas around it remain untouched by the soft breeze. The patch begins to rise suddenly, and pretty soon a door – wood, not sand – becomes visible as it opens. It pours sand all around it, and a figure steps out gracefully, closing the door behind him. The sand on the side of the dune rapidly falls to cover the door back up, and after a few moments, it is lost from sight once again. The figure turns around, and begins striding towards the horse and carriage. The figure is male, and looks like he’s in his late twenties to mid thirties. His face is angular and stern, his chin slightly squared and pronounced. His blonde hair is slicked back in strandy spikes, and he is wearing a pair of dark glasses over his eyes, presumably to protect against the glare of the sun. He stands at about six feet tall, give or take, and is of a slender yet powerful build. His dark, leather-like armour is black, save for some fresh-looking crimson stains on the chest and legs. There are no openings in the armour of the cloth beneath, and no sign of any injuries on the visible parts of his body. A long bladed staff is slung over his back, which looks like it’s just been wiped clean.

Fenris approaches Midnight and the wagon, swinging himself up onto the seat where Midnights reigns are lying. He had been sent out by a merchant to dispose of some bandits that were making trouble raiding his caravans in the area out of a hidden network of caves. Fenris had been hired to clear them out, a task he has just now completed. Flicking the reigns, he begins to turn the carriage about – the wagon holds the supplies that Fenris will need to survive the desert, not to mention provide a shaded and cool area to sleep at night, in line with Rule 94; Never enter a hostile environment without proper planning and preparation – and head back north. He’s done his job, he’s gathered the proof that he needs to prove that his job is completed, and now he’s out of here. Personally, he is of these jobs; for the past few months it’s been ‘visit these caves and gather this slime,’ ‘go to the desert and kill some bandits,’ ‘Go to these ruins and wipe out the infestation of Giant Rats,’ and even a ‘climb a mountain and kill this giant chicken-dragon’ (that was a weird one). Just once he would like to go somewhere nice and have a simple ‘find this person and bring them back to here’ or ‘go to this sunny, not-too-hot location and scout something for me’. But no, it’s all kill-kill-kill. At least the money’s good, though.

[Summerchika]

Fingering the patterned scars on his right abdomen, Rajat scowled as he mulled over what he knew of the mythical Marid tribe. He knew that they were supposedly the most powerful of all Djinni, and that many had sought their great wisdom. He knew that they had not used magic often because of their unique tattoos--the ones that Rajat now bore on his skin.

But those were bed time stories meant to spark dreams in the Djinni children. And to his own knowledge, that was all they were. There were not even known documents of the Marid--only stories passed down from parent to child throughout the millenia. There were rumors of bleak tales that included a scroll or two about the Marid, but that was all. It was simple: according to all the knowledge of the Djinni elders, the Marid did not and had never before existed.

Then why the strange markings on his skin? Why could he and Nazanin not be bound? Rajat did not fully trust the elders' knowledge, but neither did he trust these childish ideas of the non-existent Marid tribe.

Frustrated by these endlessly circling thoughts, Rajat stood up quickly, clamping his fist down on the hot stone he had been idly studying while he thought. He stalked quickly to another part of the dune he was beginning to grow tired of. He hated being idle.

Studying the land before him, he searched more actively for the sign he and Nazanin had been awaiting for days now. From his view point atop one of the largest dunes in the desert, Rajat could see much. He saw--or rather, felt--each lizard in the sand. He could feel the unnoticed life residing in the heart of the desert that hummed and thrived beneath his feet. This land was not kind to those who knew not of its life. But his tribes knew this hostile environment better than any who had lived or are alive now. For it was this land that first gave birth to the Djinni--long before the short-lived races came to be.

"Nazanin," he asked with his mind for his twin, who was at a different location in the desert searching as he was. With exasperation heavy in his voice, he began to ask, "Do you see any--" But Rajat stopped himself mid-sentence as his eyes caught hold of peculiar movement.

There, at a fair midpoint between himself and Nazanin, stood a black horse tied to a wagon, a sight that was too alien in a land such as this. Narrowing his eyes, he sent Nazanin the odd picture with his mind, and then began to shift his shape.

Turning into his favorite form--wispy smoke--Rajat flew on the wind toward the suspicious scene. As he neared the scene, he felt Nazanin's presence approaching just as fast--if not faster.

Watching discreetly from above as he floated thinly on the wind, Rajat's eyes would have widened by the sight he saw, if he still had his normal eyes. The sand below him began to shift unnaturally as a door opened from beneath the sand. A man rose from the sand, shutting the wooden door behind him.

Rajat had heard of things like this, but he had never cared for them. It was far from the Djinni civilizations in the desert, and it would only be used for another few decades or so by the humans. Therefore, it was of no consequence. However, seeing the man emerge from the human-made door, Rajat began to see its slight importance in the world.

As the man took the horse's reigns in his hands and began to slowly ride away on the wagon, Rajat began to follow him on the wind, mentally raising an eyebrow at Nazanin.

"Well," he asked, "is this the sign the crazy old man meant for us to find?"

[Rin]

Raj, darling, thought Nazanin, If only you could escape the labyrinthine caverns of profundity which are your aimless thoughts. Then you might actually learn to pay attention.

Nin’s slow, silvery chuckle echoed through her twin’s mind as Fenris’ carriage rattled along, a black horse dragging its wheels through the sand at a sluggish pace. Where Rajat would have found this slowness irksome, Nin was quite comfortable. As usual. she felt no need to rush.

Although she enjoyed poking fun at her brother, Nazanin did not actually think his thoughts were aimless. She shared his same curiosity, his same concern, but her passion for the truth only simmered in comparison to Rajat's fiery ambition. Raj was the type who had to know and had to know now.

Nin, on the other hand, knew finding answers to their questions would take time. After all, the only way to get information about their mysterious power was by hunting down Marid scrolls, and these, as common knowledge dictated, did not exist. How could they? Everyone knew the legends of the Marid tribe were folklore.

But how was it, then, that after centuries of Djinni enslavement by human Sahir, two young, common Cross Bloods could have the miraculous power to thwart the binding process? And if the Marid, mythical as they seemed, were the only known Djinni capable of such a feat... she and Rajat must be part Marid. What other explanation was there?

Nazanin couldn't help, however, but brood over the possibility that she and her brother's journey of discovery could be nothing more than the childish pursuit of fairy tales. Nin sighed. She could certainly understand Rajat's frustration.

Just then, Nin caught sight of a familiar wisp of smoke—Ah, there you are, she thought. She let her eyes materialize, peeking up at her brother with a look that said tsk tsk. When Rajat looked down, he would get a wink from a carriage with lightning blue eyes.

Nin turned her attention back to Fenris. A self-important looking chap, this one is, she thought to Raj. Let's see if Fenny dearest deserves to wear such a confidant smirk...

Nazanin stretched one of her window curtains toward Fenris and tapped him on the shoulder; she pulled back immediately and let it drop back into place. Then after a brief pause, she reached forward with her other curtain arm and snatched the glasses from his face. A moment of internal chuckling later, and she decided to really let him have it, pitching and bucking with her carriage body like an angry bull, and on a whim deciding to make her wheels disappear completely. Nin no longer bothered to conceal her laughter as she thumped onto the ground, throwing up a spray of sand.

Fenris was sitting in the driver's seat of a chortling carriage with a mind of its own.

[Murdoch]

The touch is so light that a normal person may not notice it; a light caress on the edge of Fenris's consciousness, a passing probe that barely registers against his mental barriers, like a piece of silk landing on a soldiers helmet, carried there by a wayward breeze. No concentrated attack, designed to rip information from his head, no blinding flash or shock attack designed to try and batter down his defences and leave him writhing in agony. The simplest of touches, meant to glean surface information; a scouting party, if you will, designed possibly to divine his destination or name.

However, this brief touch is enough to alert Fenris to somebody elses presence; he is no normal human, and his mental defences are formidable. The only reason such a light touch gleaned any information at all is because he wasn't expecting it, so allowed his mental defences to slip slightly. That is an oversight on Fenris's part; he should never lower his defences, even a little. As it is, whoever read his mind now knows who he is, which means that the element of surprise regarding his skill with his weapon is gone. Although...they still don't know about his powers, or his tactics or anything more personal than his name. Those bits of information require more than a passing scan of his mind to learn, and anything more than his name requires a far more forceful attempt on his mind, and although he has no illusions about his mind being impenetrable, he has no doubt that he can at least resist any attempt on his mind with considerable force.

But this is an excellent example of Rules 86 and 89: take any sound (or, by extension, mental probe) to be an indication of imminent attack and prepare accordingly, and never allow yourself to be distracted respectively. Instantly, he is on his guard; whoever just read his mind may not have benevolent thoughts in mind. He should be on his guard-
-something taps him on the shoulder. He frowns, and turns around to look, only to have his glasses snatched from his face and thrown to the ground by something that looks a lot like the curtain of the carriage. Instantaneously, he clamps his eyes shut, wincing against the sudden glare of the sun; his eyesight is extremely sensitive, and though he can handle the daylight if he has to, the sudden change from filtered to unfiltered could easily incapacitate him. As it is, light streams through his eyelids, and it's only after careful manipulation of his pupils that he can crack his eyes open enough to see.
And then the carriage starts to buck wildly.
He growls, biting back a curse. As the carriage bucks wildly, Fenris instantly dismisses any thoughts of getting it under control again; it is obviously possessed by some force - carriages do not simply take on a mind of their own without outside interference - and stands up on the small platform. His superhuman balance keeps him from being thrown off of it, and he draws his blade quickly, slicing through the leather straps that connect the carriage to Midnight. Though it will prove difficult to move the carriage without them, he has spare ones in the back and the safety of his horse is far more important at the moment. Midnight is almost irreplaceable, and the carriage...well, that isn't.

Once Midnight has been freed from the carriage, Fenris launches himself off of the carriage, landing in a roll and coming up on his feet in a shower of sand, just as the carriage thuds to the ground, absent its wheels and suddenly still. He hears a sound - almost like a chortle, as if something is enjoying itself - and makes a small sound in the back of his throat. Otherwise, he keeps his composure, keeping his face perfectly serene and flat. He takes a quick look at the situation, and comes to a few conclusions.
Number 1) Whatever the force is, it does not mean him serious harm; if it did, it would have thrown the wagon upside down or something similar which could have resulted in worse than sandy armour.
Number 2) The force or creature is far more powerful than Fenris, so if a fight does arise, he needs to fight with his brains and not his brawn. In preparation, he locks down his mind as much as possible, confining all thoughts to strict confines in the different segments of his mind. It will take a lot of effort to learn anything from reading his mind now.
Number 3) The force is still inside or otherwise controlling the carriage, due to that chortling sound and the slight glow coming from it. Normal eyes would be unable to see it, but Fenris's eyes are not normal.
And finally, Number 4) That wisp of smoky-cloud, hovering above everything, was not here a few minutes ago, before this all started. It is the only cloud in the sky, is flying far too low to be natural and got here without the assistance of wind. It is almost certainly supernatural, in accordance with Rule 85: never trust anything innocent-looking that is found in a dangerous or uncertain situation or environment.

He stands up, his blade held tightly in his hand. His weapon and armour are the only things that he can trust will not be possessed; he had them enchanted ages ago to protect against that. Prepare for every eventuality, after all. Reaching into a small compartment on the side of his curaiss, he brings out another pair of glasses, and puts them on; Rule 3, pockets are your friends.
Making sure he is a safe distance away from the wagon, he looks around him, cautiously, and clears his throat. "If you have business with me, whoever you are, then make it known or depart. I have no patience for games."

[Summerchika]

With Nin's teasing, Rajat mentally rolled his eyes; he knew her thoughts as well, and her opinions on the matter they had both been mulling about in their minds. He did not retort right away, however, as he was instantly distracted by the ridiculous image that was his sister. Nin, for at the moment her nickname suited her perfectly, was a winking wagon.

Of all the things-- His outburst was cut short as Nazanin began to play. Yes, play was the right word. She enjoyed toying with humans, and although Rajat never joined in, he did not stop it either, as long as it was just playing. He even found it amusing most of the time, as he did now.

He began a reluctant laugh in his mind, physically unable to do so as smoke, as Nazanin's enjoyment seeped through their mental bond. And Rajat had to admit, it was quite a sight to see a laughing, maniacal wagon.

The human's reaction was almost as amusing, though not quite what Rajat had expected. "Fenny," as Nazanin had nicknamed the human, moved with more speed and agility than Raj had expected of a human. And his obvious sensitivity to light made Raj wonder a bit at the human's humanity. But it didn't really matter. There was little threat, so far as Rajat was concerned. No doubt Nazanin would make fun of his pride as well, if she ever got over being a wagon, he thought to himself with an inward smirk.

As the human spoke, Rajat sighed aloud on the wind as he began to descend and change form. From an outside perspective, it looked as if wispy smoke churned and twisted to take on human flesh. An odd sight by itself, though it did not compare to what Nin's transformation would be like.

Might as well show him who we are, Nin. He said just between them before his feet landed, but made no impression on the sand next to the wagon. It wouldn't do to have the human run off now, not before they could make sure of his usefulness.

Aloud, he belatedly retorted to Nin's teasing, in a roundabout way of greeting the inhuman human. Raj did not like talking to humans directly, if he had to. That was Nazanin's quirk that he did not share.

"And if only you, dear sister, could break free of your poetic verse." He tossed the now familiar stone high into the air, and then caught it again, already bored of this human interaction. This quick boredom was probably one of the reasons he and his twin needed the inhuman's help, at least on Rajat's part.

"So? Is he deserving?" He continued, moving his gaze from Nin-turned-wagon to the man who held a sword in his hand. Silly of him to think that a mere blade would scare anything away in this desert.

Still, his appearance was promising, if still terribly human. Assessing eyes looked the man up and down as if sizing up a horse.

[Rin]

Nazanin's laugh faded to a soft chuckle as Rajat materialized beside her. Might as well show him who we are, Nin.

But we are! thought Nin. You are Rajat, the grumpy brown existentialist, and I am Nazanin, your salacious wagon companion.

Nazanin gave one last feathery chortle and began her transformation. Her wagon body folded rapidly in on itself like artfully creasing paper, and only after much folding did it begin to resemble her shape. Then, finally, with a burst of black smoke, she was herself, wicked smile and all. Nazanin planted a hand on her hip, inky smoke settling around her. Her sharp eyes flashed. "Afternoon, Fenris."

Nazanin's gaze flicked methodically over Fenris' sandy form. He seemed much taller now that she was her regular size. Stronger, and more capable. And she had to admit--his supernatural agility had impressed her greatly. She agreed with Rajat's mental suspicions. This was no regular human.

"So," asked Rajat, "Is he deserving?" The bored Djinni tossed a rock into the air and caught it, speaking, naturally, as if Fenris wasn't there.

"Not sure yet," Nin replied. She sighed as she felt her brother's boredom begin to morph into impatience. Nin could understand this, but only to an extent. She knew it was difficult working with weaker, less intelligent beings. At the same time, she often found that, unlike her brother, her impatience in their regard was overshadowed by curiosity. These fragile, short-lived beings... Why did the gods favor them so?

Nazanin returned her attention to Fenris. Despite her tomfoolery, he seemed composed--a good sign. But the hard set of his shoulders indicated discomfort. Well we can't have that, now can we? she thought. Nin softened her smile, trying to seem less imposing. "Sorry," she said. "I'm a little insufferable sometimes. Ask Raj, he'll tell you." She paused then, casting her brother a sideways glance. "Actually..." she continued, "He probably won't. But it's true. My name is Nazanin." She inclined her head respectfully. "How do you do?"

[Murdoch]

Fenris has taken an instant dislike to the pair of them. The one labelled 'Raj' - probably a nickname, given their relationship - is arrogant, condescending and superior. It doesn't take a master detective to figure that out; it's in the way he stands, the way he speaks, the way he refuses to even consider deigning to speak to a 'lowly human,' as he probably sees it. It's in the way he inspects him like a horse or a slave, then simply ignores his existence. The female - the sister, whose name has yet to be revealed - is slightly better, but not by much. Though she shows him token respect, she still sizes him up like a prize buy before speaking, and is evidently the one that took control of his wagon and made things a little more difficult for him. Interesting that she destroyed the wagon, and then attempts to make nice with him. Does she not realise the importance of that wagon, or does she simply not care? Either way, it is completely thoughtless, and Fenris has no time for selfish people. It may sound strange, coming from a mercenary who has a code specifically designed for self-advancement, but there it is. There's looking out for yourself, and then there's being an arrogant, selfish arsehole. These two, from first impressions, cross that line.

And he doesn't much like how they're speaking either; they evidently need him for something, given the language that they're using and the manner in which they have appeared to him, but for what is yet to be seen. It could be a ritual - which would explain the 'worthy' comment - or a job that they need doing, and the 'worthy' refers to his worthiness to work for them. Neither of those situations hold a particular allure; either get sacrificed or work for two people he can't stand. These things considered, he also considers rules 14 and 101: Don't waste time and never get involved in any kind of ritual respectively. They're obviously powerful beings, so a little caution is required, but given that they're powerful, he probably won't like whatever they have in mind. So again, rule 14; he has no intention of becoming their sacrifice or their employee, so there is no point in staying in a hostile desert with two arrogant and powerful beings, with no supplies at all. He can survive the journey back without supplies, but it will be a lot more uncomfortable.

He whistles, and Midnight turns his head, trotting over to him. He stops beside Fenris, nickering softly as Fenris reaches up with his free hand and pats the horses head. It would be rude not to answer the one that actually addressed him, of course, and speaking costs him nothing, so he answers...perhaps not diplomatically, but honestly.
"Greetings," he says coldly. It isn't anything personal; his speech is usually seen as cold and snide. "May I suggest that if you need somebody for something, you treat them with a little more respect." He swings himself up onto Midnight, and pats the horses neck again. "Unfortunately, I cannot stay and chat to either of you, even if I wanted to. I must depart, and seeing as how my food and shelter is now gone, I must do so quickly or risk dehydrating and dying in the desert...and doing a job without being paid at the end does so upset me." He inclines his head. "So farewell, and good luck with whatever you needed me for." With that, he turns Midnight around and begins to trot away, towards the edge of the desert. It will be quicker going without the wagon, true, but he would still rather go slowly and be able to eat and sleep in the shade...as it is, that option is no longer open to him. The supernatural beings, whatever they are, can follow him if they so choose, but it will not change his answer. Judging by their abilities and their arrogance, he would say that they were Djinn...except that they aren't bound. That doesn't make it any less likely - Djinn have to be free before they're bound, after all - but it makes it more troubling. Free Djinn would be very powerful, and Fenris doesn't know enough about them to fight them effectively. He could try running them through with his sword, but even though it's enchanted, it's still only an iron blade, and he doesn't know if that would hurt them or not. It may annoy them, at least...but if he got into that situation, he would be fighting for the principal, not because he expected to win. Either way...he hopes it doesn't come to that. He's had his fair share of fighting today, and just wants to get back so he can get paid. He kicks Midnight into a canter, rather than a gallop; if he sets Midnight to gallop in the desert, he could lose his footing and trip...and that would be a waste of a perfectly good horse. So he keeps him to a canter...it's fast enough, and reduces the risk of injury to both of them. He keeps his blade out, though; you never know what will happen in the desert, and the two seconds it takes to draw the blade could be the difference between life and death.

[Summerchika]

At Nazanin's remark, a small snort made its way past Raj's cold demeanor. "That you are, Nin" he thought with a smile as she began her wacky transformation. Nin, being the more caring toward humans than he, noticed Fenris' discomfort and acted to alleviate some of the damage to Fenris' pride that she had inflicted. Well, alright, he had probably inflicted some as well, but he was not about to feel apologetic about it.

The human replied to Nin's bowed head of respect with coldness, which heated Raj's anger. He watched with narrowed eyes as Fenny rode away. This one was unbelievably annoying.

"Do you want to tell him, or should I?" he asked Nazanin, referring to the tiny bottled Fenny-wagon hidden on Nin's person. Nin's enjoyment at having stolen something under both Raj's and the human's nose seeped through their connection, lightening his anger only a bit.

"Nevermind," he continued through their mental link, having thought better of his question. "I'll let you handle this one, Nin. I may kill him if he gets too close."

Rajat was not one to retreat to let another take over, even his own sister, but he knew all too well the stakes at hand. He knew himself too well--his extreme impatience when it came to humans, and Nin's slight annoyance at him for it. He knew that if Fenny continued to ignore Nin when she was being so unusually nice, Raj may feel the need to snap the human's neck. That image pleased him greatly. So, for the moment, Raj returned to smoke, a sneer on his face.

However, at the last moment before he vaporized completely, Raj flicked the rock he held toward Fenny's head, a tad curious to see if the human would show the inhuman reflexes Raj had witnessed earlier, or if Raj would hear the satisfying "crack" of stone hitting skull.

[Murdoch]

Fenris is a tad curious as to what the two supernaturals could possibly want, but that is not enough to make him turn around; if they wanted him to do something for them, they went the wrong way about it. What they did is the equivalent of childish bullying, throwing their weight around and expecting everybody else to bow to their wishes. Perhaps he was a little cold towards the female, especially considering that she did offer at least token respect...but then again, his speech is usually cold and detached, regardless of the situation, and she did just possess his wagon, risk injuring him and his horse and effectively disposed of his supplies...so he supposes that even were the coldness unique to his voice, it would still be warranted. If they truly desire his help, the chances are that they will follow him...of course, that won't change his attitude. As far as they are concerned, he has absolutely no interest.

Then he hears something. That is not unusual in itself - even in the desert, which is normally quiet, his hearing is good enough to hear a lizards footsteps on the rocks - but it is the type of sound that he hears. It's a small ping, followed by a small whistling sound, and it's getting closer...the male - Raj - was holding a rock, and he appears to be the proud, vindictive type...
He moves his head to the right sharply, reaching up with his right hand and catching the rock as it whizzes past his left ear. It stings, but his armoured gloves provide the protection he needs to stop the trajectory hurting him much. He doesn't stop Midnight, regards the rock coolly, then extends his arm to the right and drops it back onto the sand. Just as he thought; Juvenile. Doing any kind of job with them would be akin to babysitting a pair of thirteen year old nobles; spoiled, immature and extremely hard work. Not enough gold in the world.
So he doesn't slow his pace. He doesn't quicken it either, though, since that would show fear and they would take that as a sign that they had some power over him, but he continues his path away from them nonetheless. So. They basically just assaulted him, too...one more reason for him not to help them.

[Rin]

(OOC: sorry this is so long )

“Why do I suddenly feel like a spoiled, immature, thirteen-year-old noble who would be a lot of work to babysit?”

Nazanin laced her fingers behind her head, watching Fenris' retreat with a cool smile. “I know I was being ridiculous," she said, "But based on his reputation, I knew I wouldn’t hurt him. I was hoping he'd figure out a way to take control of the situation, once he saw what we were.” Nazanin frowned. “Are we really so unheard of? If I were him I would’ve…bartered a castle out of us, or…something. And then fled weeping into the desert.”

Nazanin crossed her arms and leaned against Rajat. “Maybe this isn’t our guy," she said, letting her head head flop against his chest.

But, even as the words left her mouth Nazanin knew they weren’t true. What in the name of the gods had come over her? She had dealt with toothless, rum-soaked wastrels with more tact than she had dealt with Fenris. Normally she saved her terrorism for perverts and sadists, and only if she didn’t need them for something.

But that was before…

A memory of blinding pain assaulted her mind. She squeezed her eyes shut. She remembered iron manacles dissolving the flesh on her wrists and ankles, copper knives carving her stomach into a jagged, bloody river system. She remembered needles filled with molten ruby, puncturing the thin membranes of her eyes and blinding her with white hot fire…It felt like a pair of foot-long nails had been driven through her eye sockets. Pain so exquisite she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t scream. Couldn’t do anything but arch her back and spasm. And the shadowy human faces behind it all, lips twitching as they touched her in ways that would normally have cost them their arms…

And then, that power. The power that had filled her lungs with heart-pounding ecstasy, turned her eyes to moons, run her through with the most euphoric pain...It hurt more than anything the humans had done, and yet she couldn’t get enough. She remembered the sound of snapping chains, snapping arms, snapping necks, and the hot spray of blood that had coated her skin as she thrashed…A brief memory of lifeless eyes, and the stench of death. She’d woken up in a pond of blood next to Rajat, vomiting when she saw what they had done to him...

Nazanin gasped through her nose. She hadn’t been breathing. She straightened as her eyes fluttered open, and with a little effort relaxed her fists. Little red crescents punctured her palms. Gods, she thought, trembling as she stared at them. Look what you've been reduced to.

She released a tremulous breath and glared after Fenris. That’s why she’d done it. Because Fenris was the first human she'd met since those Sahir had tortured her, trying to weaken her enough to bind her.

Because he was one of them.

Just then, Nazanin's anger was cooled by another, much more pleasant memory. Humans are not our enemies, Nazanin, said her mother’s soft voice. She presented young Nin with the bundle she’d been carrying—a human infant she’d found in the desert, and nursed back to health. The soft, warm thing cooed as Nazanin took it, and she couldn’t help but smile. She’d liked humans then. They were beautiful, innocent, and fascinating.

Nin sighed as she tried to assume that state of mind. Fenris is not one of those Sahir, she thought, forcefully. And he doesn’t deserve to be treated this way.

“I’m going after h—“ Nazanin stopped short, looking around. When had Rajat left? No matter, it was probably better he was gone. She had caused quite enough damage on her own.

Nazanin snapped her fingers, and in a puff of black smoke she transformed into a giant charcoal jackal. She launched herself through the cloud of unsettled smoke and sprinted in Fenris’ direction. Her long, powerful bounds brought her astride him quickly.

“Wait.” Nazanin threw up a great plume of sand as she ground to a halt in front of him. She projected her voice into the air with her mind. “I have something for you.”

[Murdoch]

Soon enough, Fenris hears something else; the sound of stampeding feet and heavy, gasping breaths coming from behind him...and gaining quickly. Though he doesn't have to turn around to surmise what it probably is - one of the arrogant Djinn attempting to catch up - he does so anyway. Rule 21: Don't jump to conclusions. For all he knows, it could be some desert-lurking creature looking to make him its next meal. He isn't going to be eaten just because he refused to turn around because he thought he knew what it was.

His glance behind him told him everything he needed to know. A black jackal, large for its species, is catching him up swiftly. Given everything he knows about jackals, this is probably one of the Djinn; true, jackals are residents of the desert and other hostile terrain, but they're crepuscular, which means that they come out at dawn and dusk primarily. Also given that no jackal species that Fenris knows of has the all-black colour of this one - and the female Djinn was herself black - the two combine to make it obvious that this isn't an ordinary jackal. One of those could easily have been a coincidence...two? Unlikely. The third coincidence, of course, is that it's chasing him. Jackals are opportunistic omnivores. They wouldn't hunt him alone if there was easier prey around, which he can guarantee there probably is. He doesn't stop, though; as he said. He has very little interest in helping them. Yes, they can magic things into existence and grant wishes...but in his experience, Djinn don't like being bound, and will try and catch you out with the Jerk-ass Genie trick of giving you what you want in the worst possible way, Midas-style. Anything he can't earn on his own is worth nothing to him.

He has to stop, however, when the Jackal pulls up in front of him, or risk injuring Midnight, himself or both. He regards her - he's sure it's a her - coolly for a moment, before a voice appears in the air between them. He keeps his blade in hand - if they don't allow him to leave, he may have to use it, at least as a distraction; it may not be the finest steel (hell, it isn't even steel, it's iron!) in the world, but that's why he enchanted it so damn much - and raises his eyebrow fractionally. What could they possibly have for him? It may transpire that they can magic the wagon back into existence (Djinn have done more impressive stuff, if the stories are to be believed), but that will not make him want to help them. He'll take his supplies and shade back, happily, but he will not happily help them. They've made it clear that they are not the kind of people he wants to be working for.

His instant reaction is to make a cold remark, but he restrains himself; she is the one of the pair who has actually shown him a modicum of respect, and she has just chased him down to give him this 'present,' even though it is almost certainly an attempt to bribe him into listening to whatever their proposal is. So instead, he speaks in his normal voice (still cold, but not the iciness which he can give it), and attempts to be at least fractionally polite. "Many thanks," he begins, "but I would appreciate it if you make it quick. I want to get out of this God-forsaken desert and receive the other half of my pay as quickly as possible."

[Rin]

(OOC: Summer has given me permission to take her turn, since this particular situation involves Nazanin more than Rajat. The next reply is all hers Also, I seem to have become extremely long winded within the last twelve hours. Sorry.)

Nazanin shivered under Fenris' cold human glance. This frustrated her. Afraid of humans now, are we? she thought, huffing. Don't be pathetic.

Feeling mildly ruffled again, she found herself questioning what she was about to do. It was so much more tempting to simply force Fenris to do this job. She could take away his horse, or his sight, or his legs. Or tie him to a rock and let Rajat skin him alive. Nazanin gave a jackal's equivalent of a chuckle. Raj would like that.

With these thoughts in mind, Nin took a combative step forward, fur bristling. Fortunately, though, the memory of her mother restrained her. Not a Sahir, she reminded herself, shaking her head. Now stop it.

So, instead of attacking, Nazanin morphed back into herself, hoping to appear less threatening. She didn't, however, expect the human to let his guard down. She wouldn't have.

"You don’t owe me any thanks," she said. "If anything I should be thanking you for not engaging me back there. Unfortunately, my conviviality regarding humans has deteriorated in light of... recent events...and had you not shunned my earlier behavior I might never have come to my senses.

"That said, I believe an apology is in order. And thus, though it is very difficult for me to say, I'd like to tell you...I accept."

Nazanin's serious expression contorted with amusement as she struggled not to laugh. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she said, lifting her hands. "I told you, I'm insufferable." Then, disguising a chuckle by clearing her throat, she continued. "In all seriousness, though, I am sorry. My earlier actions were entirely unacceptable, and I give my word that you will not be met with any further disrespect. From me.

"Doubtless you are wondering why my brother and I approached you in the first place. We are in need of a human..." Nin's eyes flicked over Fenris. "Or perhaps in this case a humanoid of your particular skill set to perform a job for us. The sensitive nature of this mission prevents us from imparting any details thereof until we are sure you will comply. But, we are prepared to offer you significant compensation in exchange for your cooperation.

"However," she continued, speaking carefully, "It is completely understandable if, after all I've done, you wish to refuse our offer." Nin gave a small smile. "I would refuse, too. But—regardless of whether or not you accept..."

Nazanin paused, plucking a small bottle from her bosom. She eyed it for a moment, biting her lip. There were quite a few possibilities to consider here. She could simply give the wagon back, just the way she'd found it. Or she could embed it with a trap first, and refuse to free Fenris until he complied with their demands.

Or she could turn it into a giant lizard, and Fenris into a fly.

But...no. Nazanin sighed. Rajat was going to hate her for this.

"Regardless of whether or not you accept," she repeated, "I’d like to present you with this small peace offering." Nin lifted the bottle to her eyes and squinted at it. "I know it isn't much,” she said, “But I promise it's safe.”

With that, Nazanin popped the cork. A whirlwind of black sand spiraled from the mouth of the bottle and began to expand, congealing slowly into the shape of Fenris’ carriage. Once it had solidified, Nazanin peered over at Fenris, lifting a finger as if to say One moment. Then, with a wink, she slipped inside his carriage.

After a moment of silence, the wagon began to rock and buckle, and jets of purple smoke exploded from its windows. This went on for several minutes, until finally Nazanin emerged, smoothing her hair with a satisfied smile.

“My dear Fenris,” she said, gesticulating grandly, “May I present you with the world’s most accommodating carriage.”

The opening of the back of Fenris’ carriage was covered with a thin black curtain. Nazanin plunged an arm into it. “Carriage,” she said. “Present longsword.”

Nazanin screamed and removed her arm—now missing a hand—from the curtain. Then she froze, smiling as the hand reappeared with a pop. “Just a little joke,” she said.

Still smirking, she reached back into the curtain, sliding an impressive steel longsword from its folds. She gave Fenris a significant look. “Not good enough for you?” she asked. She replaced her arm in the carriage. “Present team of horses,” she commanded. This time when Nazanin removed her hand, she held reins, which were followed by a glossy chestnut stallion. Once the horse had emerged, another one followed, and then another, and another. Each was completely outfitted and ready to be hitched to the carriage.

“Still not satisfied? You drive a hard bargain. Carriage,” she said, replacing her arm once more, “Present water.”

A few seconds passed, and nothing happened. Nazanin’s eyebrows furrowed. She gave a nervous chuckle and lifted a finger, turning toward the carriage and pulling back the curtain. A wall of water bowled her off her feet, flattening her against the sand.

“Alright, ALRIGHT!” she gurgled, flailing helplessly. The water stopped. With an exasperated cry, she stumbled to her feet, looking rather like a drowned rat, but still smiling.

“As you can see,” she squeaked, “This carriage will give you absolutely anything you ask for. But, uh…you might do well to form your commands a tad more carefully than I did.” Nin tittered in embarrassment.

“Yes, well.” Nazanin began to squelch away. “I’m off to find a towel. If you decide you’re interested in working with us, just…give us a whistle." Nin paused, looking over her shoulder at Fenris. "Feel free to magic up anything from that carriage that would make you feel safer around us," she added. "Or, should I say, around Rajat.”

With that, Nazanin winked, saluted, and dissolved into sand, allowing the wind to carry her away.

Nazanin traveled on the breeze, probing the surrounding area for her brother’s consciousness. Finally, she located him. Hello, Raj, she thought to him. You’re going to love me when I tell you what I’ve done.

[Murdoch]

(Don't worry ^_^ maybe you're making up for when you didn't reply for a month or two )

Fenris isn't entirely sure how to react to the "show". It is certainly a relief that his carriage is not, in fact, destroyed, and it is pleasing to see that one of the Djinn, at least, is capable of humbling herself when necessary...but that's just it. It's necessary. What will happen if Fenris takes the job? Will she begin acting superior again, making his life hell simply because he's agreed to take the job and they think he's under their thumb? Quite possibly...but he cannot second guess their actions without knowing them properly, and must therefore go on first impressions. The first impression of the female is a...complicated one. She is obviously extremely mischievous, which probably gets her into trouble a lot, but according to his second impression, is willing to admit when she's made a mistake; a trait that many people, supernatural or otherwise, lack. For that, he's suitably impressed. She also obviously doesn't take herself too seriously, judging by the little show she put on for Fenris; though it will not sway his decision, he must admit, he did have to resist cracking a small smile at her antics.

However, the absence of 'Raj' is not missed; that is the one that will be difficult, should he accept this job. Proud, arrogant, vindictive and stubborn are the words that come to mind from their first encounter, and Fenris doesn't mix well with that kind of people, regardless of how much they pay. Even the female acknowledged his flaws, in a roundabout kind of way...No amount of gold would make him put up with 'Raj,' especially not when he doesn't know what he's signing up to. He makes a point of only agreeing to jobs he knows the vague details on, at least - some jobs are too sensitive to go broadcasting the fine details, after all - and only after he's made it clear that his cooperation isn't free or unlimited; they could easily lose his services (and deposit) if he decides that they're contradicting his code, or if they're just too insufferable. That last one doesn't occur often; he reads them before he accepts, and bases his acceptance on their personal manner as well as the job, and whether it would affect the job as a whole. If you took a job for an arrogant noble but never saw him during the job, it wouldn't make sense to reject said job on the basis of his personality...but he is guessing that these two have a job that is more personal.

The female disappears, leaving him "alone" with the carriage, his new team of horses and Midnight. He trots over - wary of a trap, as per rule 32 - and regards it critically. It looks the same as before (plus the curtain and team of horses, of course) and the female could easily have been using her powers rather than the carriages to bring those things into existence. He needs to try it out himself...but not now. He is not sitting on it, driving it or even attempting to use it until he's had it appraised by a Master Mage. He knows the Royal Mage of one of the major kingdoms personally, and he owes him one; he'll get him to assess whether there are any traps or catches in this thing before attempting to use it, just in case. Never trust anything given to you by creatures with an obvious personal agenda...you never know what agenda that may be or what it entails for you. She could easily have left a trap in there for him. It's happened before.

He trots Midnight up besides the horses, inspecting them critically as they're hitched up to the carriage...Midnight wickers and Fenris pats his neck. "None of them can match you, boy..." he murmurs as he does so. He sighs...he should at least hear them out, as per rule 16 (explore all possibilities), especially after the female, at least made an effort to reconcile...though he is still not too enthusiastic about working with the male.
He turns his horse around on the spot; the chances of him being alone are extremely low.
"I do not do jobs without knowing what they are," he says to the air. It makes him feel foolish, shouting into the desert, but it's the only way he can be sure of them hearing him. "And I do not do jobs before making clear exactly what you're paying me to do. That is non-negotiable."

(I'll be referring to other RP's that Fenris has been in over the years, just so you know...the "Royal Mage" was one of the people I RPed with with Fenris ^_^ )