Of all the duties found in her job at the docks it was night watch that proved the least appealing for the goliathess. Not because the task was filled with tedium. Tedium would be a nice reprieve from what she found every time. Every hired hand and wanton thug came out when word spread she was working. Each one out to test their strength. Truly she would rather have stayed at the Inn speaking with Elizibeth, however duty comes first.

Where many of the others liked to stick with set patterns, each patrol night finds Kuori taking a different route, changing up her rotations. Simple because she wanted to avoid attention. Dressed for war, the goliathess kept her shield ready with the symbol of her tribe depicted across the round surface. The rhythmic cadense of her steps was a battle hymn as the heavy steel of her boots made a steady 'shiink-shiiink' against the steel of her greaves where they wove up into her battle-shirt of overlapping leather strips that offered more freedom of movement than anything else. The leather of her brasier strained against the volumous expanse of her muscular chest. A reminder of how she wanted to just be rid of it, but she knew that would bring more trouble than wearing it ever would. Widowmaker, her large warmace, almost seemed to burn at her side in the knowledge that someone would come across her and wish to test their might. Her large knuckles just cracked around its handle as she continued to scan around stacked crates.

After the last time when a group of thieves had tried to drop a crate on her head, the goliathess had promptly gone out, after seeing them deposited on the Watch's doorstep, and gotten herself a helmet. Nothing flashy as some were want, just a simple cap that protected her nose, the edges coming down on either side of her ears with the eye holes big enough to offer a large field of vision. Three rows of one inch spikes dot the crest of the helmet as it pushed down over her fiery mane.

Rounding a turn, the faint call of a Finch registered in the background. While it may have been a pretty sound, she knew that particular bird wouldn't be found down here. Clearly whoever made it hadn't thought the sound through completely. Then again it could be an obvious announcement, mores the fun. Drawing Widowmaker, she looped a length of leather from her rist to the handle of the mace to keep it from ever getting knocked from her grasp, among other offensive purposes.

Direction changed, she moved cautiously in the direction of the son of a finch, the chill wind fogging her breath...

Chapter 11: Night Yield

The Scathachian hulk was on dockside patrol this evening. Since Delphinea began her duties in the city, shortly after arriving, she came to loathe the nights spent along the water. The sailors, always seemingly drunk or in eternal separation of their rationale, continually propositioned her. Men were the scum which raided the fair earth of her dignity and beauty. Such is what Delphinea lauded.

She had come to recess herself during her evenings on the wharf, steering clear of the common citizen and simply keeping to the shadows. Which is where the shady side of human nature usually showed itself anyway. Her ears were always open for struggle or skirmish. She had not spent any significant time on patrol, like her Sisters did, since the outbreak of the RBF virus. She plaited her time at the Hospices, acting as the benevolent ambassador to those afflicted with their impending end. However, with the arrival of Dr. Raye Ibaraki, her duties had been freed up and Illea had decreed that she should step back from the Hospices and tend to those citizens that were alive, healthy and in need of protection. She was sure that Illea did it to give her a break; part of her was thankful, though the other part of her was disheartened.

She had no idea that there was a giantess tending to the harbor side, it had been so long since she had spent any time there, herself. So, when she heard the calamity of crashing crates and hurried toward the sound, she was unsure as of what to make of the goliathess. No weapon drawn, the large Scathachian Priestess stood on the oiled gravel which covered much of the dockside's ground and watched with wide green eyes for the next move, be it the formidable redhead's or elsewhere.