There were fewer things in life that gave Isuelt as much pleasure as the peace of the early morning. That altogether too fleeting instant when the world renewed itself and everything seemed possible. When the black night gave way to the first piercing light of day; when, even for a heartbeat, the sins of the world seemed to be overcome by a cool wash of justice. This was the time that Isuelt loved best. Although she felt that the night was her most compatible constant companion, that brief moment of dawn's first light had always held her in awe, offering up hope for the new day.
It was childish, she knew, still she couldn't help the way early morning made her feel. A little of the weight she carried on her shoulders felt lighter, lifted somehow (even if it was destined to drag her down once more by day's end). Hope was an incredibly energetic motivator, a tonic. Hope was what kept the denizens of the land toiling for one day more, no matter how dire their circumstances. This was the true miracle: that dose of hope came every morning, without fail. It was like a gift from the gods, a promise everlasting. A serving of just enough motivation to lift one through their day and to reassure even the most down-trodden of us all.
Hope: it cleansed and renewed. Dawn: it proudly presented hope to the world.
Yet this morning, Isuelt missed the radiant dawn with its pink and purple fingers stretched out along the horizon as if trying to wave and garner the Scathachian's attention. This morning, Isuelt was standing ankle-deep in a sewer water-flooded basement in the West End. The long-legged Judge stood above three dripping wet, mephitic slum lords who had been using this decrepit building as a hub for the trafficking of underage girls.
"You sicken my very nature, do you know that?" Her voice slithered with disgust and hatred, nearly making her words feel like slaps against their ears. "Do you hear me" Sick sons of bitches?" Not that they could answer her. Isuelt had them pinned down in the fetid filth of their own basement, face down, hands tethered behind their backs, mercilessly tight, rotting gags in their mouths. It was all they could do to keep their noses above the waterline to keep breathing. And breath they did; heavily and with difficulty, coughing and spewing into the chewed cloth of their gags. Two of the men had blood running from their broken noses well into their mouths and the other had a busted lip that ripped slightly more every time he tried to plead to the Judge. Isuelt had followed her "orders" from Sergeant Cullen; she had gotten the quit roughing up the suspects so badly we can hardly tell who the hell they are speech. She was admiring her own restraint this morning, Cullen and the Watch would be perfectly able to tell who these guys were when they got here. After all, she didn't batter their faces too much. However, below the belt would be a different story.
"Only sex slave action you bastards will be getting where you're going will be as a receiver. I'm thinking of enlisting a new rule for sexual deviants"to take their weapon of choice from them. What do you boys think?" A wickedly satisfied smirk spread over her expression as there was a decidedly panicked wriggling taking place is the shallowly flooded basement. "Yeah, that's what I thought. It's a bloody, fantastic idea," the sloshing of water against her boots echoed through the room as she made her way to the nearest of the three men, the biggest of them. "How about we start with you? What was your name" Fareeshel was it' Or were these chums of yours just calling you Raleigh' Hmm' What do you say, Raleigh' We give this castration thing a go, hmm?" She reached down and grabbed hold of his arm, finding it easy to maneuver the big man over onto his back. The Scathachian put a boot on his chest and grinned at the terror she saw on his face. "I think this'll be the end of your days as a man, cher"." Smoothly drawing her sword, she paused for dramatic effect before she gouged at the buckle on his belt, effectively breaking it loose and exposing only the simple button-tie of Raleigh's pants.
"That'll do, DeRomiano?" Cullen's footsteps on the stairs needed no introduction for this Scathachian. The multitude of footsteps behind him, however, cued Isuelt's eyes to lift from the big man's frantic face. She counted no less than five Watchmen behind the sergeant and took a deep breath, punctuating it with a sigh.
"You never let me have my fun anymore, Cullen," she playfully pouted, a smirk riding on her lips.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Cullen stood on the bottom step as his men hurried past him into the water and lifted up the three soaked men, one of whom's pants were slowly slipping off from the weight of the water and the absence of a belt. Cullen chuckled quietly to himself seeing that, thinking that guy had it coming"and more. Though he tried to do everything by the book and had to at least put up a show of objection to Isuelt castrating a 'defenseless" man. He looked to Isuelt and winked at her. "Perfect as always, DeRomiano. Thanks."
Sheathing her sword, she nodded to the Watch sergeant, "I aim to please."
"It'll be good to get these three scumbags off the streets, we've been trying to figure out where they were based for a while now." Cullen looked after the three men as they were escorted, not too gently, up the stairs by the Watchmen before he turned his attention back to Isuelt, now standing alone in the dank basement. "Thanks, Issy." His voice offered a more familiar tone and a more familiar address.
"Anytime, Richard." Isuelt matched his sentiment with a slight bow of her chin before she started over toward him. "The girls upstairs?"
"Already on their way to the Dragon's Gate. The orphanage staff has been alerted and are looking for the girls" parents, if they've got any." He paused and put his hands on his hips as Isuelt joined him on the bottom step. "Gonna be tough though, no lie. Most of those girls aren't from around here. We'll have to rely on what they remember about where home is."
The Scathachian nodded slowly. "I'll help if you want me to. And if the orphanage gets overwhelmed, they can send some of the girls to the Sanctuary. We'll take care of getting them home."
The two colleagues started up the stairs slowly, leaving the rotting stink behind them. It was only then, once they ascended to the first floor that Isuelt realized she'd missed the sunrise. Mid-morning light was already streaming happily through the broken windows, past the cracked shutters and ripped curtains, spilling onto the dusty floorboards. Hope had lifted her head once more, even in this god-forsaken dwelling.
"I'll let you know," Cullen rested a hand on Isuelt's back and paused to regard her: always statuesque, clad in black, weapons both on display and hidden; but always strong, always beautiful. "Why don't you go home and get some rest," the sergeant looked away from the Judge, finding it slightly easier to gaze at the sun. "And take a shower," said with a smirk as he took his leave and started toward the door to join his men and get his day started.
Isuelt stood alone amid the shambles and chuckled. Even if she'd missed out on the sunrise, a hot bath was the only other way she could think of to inspire hope for a new day. She'd take it.
It was childish, she knew, still she couldn't help the way early morning made her feel. A little of the weight she carried on her shoulders felt lighter, lifted somehow (even if it was destined to drag her down once more by day's end). Hope was an incredibly energetic motivator, a tonic. Hope was what kept the denizens of the land toiling for one day more, no matter how dire their circumstances. This was the true miracle: that dose of hope came every morning, without fail. It was like a gift from the gods, a promise everlasting. A serving of just enough motivation to lift one through their day and to reassure even the most down-trodden of us all.
Hope: it cleansed and renewed. Dawn: it proudly presented hope to the world.
Yet this morning, Isuelt missed the radiant dawn with its pink and purple fingers stretched out along the horizon as if trying to wave and garner the Scathachian's attention. This morning, Isuelt was standing ankle-deep in a sewer water-flooded basement in the West End. The long-legged Judge stood above three dripping wet, mephitic slum lords who had been using this decrepit building as a hub for the trafficking of underage girls.
"You sicken my very nature, do you know that?" Her voice slithered with disgust and hatred, nearly making her words feel like slaps against their ears. "Do you hear me" Sick sons of bitches?" Not that they could answer her. Isuelt had them pinned down in the fetid filth of their own basement, face down, hands tethered behind their backs, mercilessly tight, rotting gags in their mouths. It was all they could do to keep their noses above the waterline to keep breathing. And breath they did; heavily and with difficulty, coughing and spewing into the chewed cloth of their gags. Two of the men had blood running from their broken noses well into their mouths and the other had a busted lip that ripped slightly more every time he tried to plead to the Judge. Isuelt had followed her "orders" from Sergeant Cullen; she had gotten the quit roughing up the suspects so badly we can hardly tell who the hell they are speech. She was admiring her own restraint this morning, Cullen and the Watch would be perfectly able to tell who these guys were when they got here. After all, she didn't batter their faces too much. However, below the belt would be a different story.
"Only sex slave action you bastards will be getting where you're going will be as a receiver. I'm thinking of enlisting a new rule for sexual deviants"to take their weapon of choice from them. What do you boys think?" A wickedly satisfied smirk spread over her expression as there was a decidedly panicked wriggling taking place is the shallowly flooded basement. "Yeah, that's what I thought. It's a bloody, fantastic idea," the sloshing of water against her boots echoed through the room as she made her way to the nearest of the three men, the biggest of them. "How about we start with you? What was your name" Fareeshel was it' Or were these chums of yours just calling you Raleigh' Hmm' What do you say, Raleigh' We give this castration thing a go, hmm?" She reached down and grabbed hold of his arm, finding it easy to maneuver the big man over onto his back. The Scathachian put a boot on his chest and grinned at the terror she saw on his face. "I think this'll be the end of your days as a man, cher"." Smoothly drawing her sword, she paused for dramatic effect before she gouged at the buckle on his belt, effectively breaking it loose and exposing only the simple button-tie of Raleigh's pants.
"That'll do, DeRomiano?" Cullen's footsteps on the stairs needed no introduction for this Scathachian. The multitude of footsteps behind him, however, cued Isuelt's eyes to lift from the big man's frantic face. She counted no less than five Watchmen behind the sergeant and took a deep breath, punctuating it with a sigh.
"You never let me have my fun anymore, Cullen," she playfully pouted, a smirk riding on her lips.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Cullen stood on the bottom step as his men hurried past him into the water and lifted up the three soaked men, one of whom's pants were slowly slipping off from the weight of the water and the absence of a belt. Cullen chuckled quietly to himself seeing that, thinking that guy had it coming"and more. Though he tried to do everything by the book and had to at least put up a show of objection to Isuelt castrating a 'defenseless" man. He looked to Isuelt and winked at her. "Perfect as always, DeRomiano. Thanks."
Sheathing her sword, she nodded to the Watch sergeant, "I aim to please."
"It'll be good to get these three scumbags off the streets, we've been trying to figure out where they were based for a while now." Cullen looked after the three men as they were escorted, not too gently, up the stairs by the Watchmen before he turned his attention back to Isuelt, now standing alone in the dank basement. "Thanks, Issy." His voice offered a more familiar tone and a more familiar address.
"Anytime, Richard." Isuelt matched his sentiment with a slight bow of her chin before she started over toward him. "The girls upstairs?"
"Already on their way to the Dragon's Gate. The orphanage staff has been alerted and are looking for the girls" parents, if they've got any." He paused and put his hands on his hips as Isuelt joined him on the bottom step. "Gonna be tough though, no lie. Most of those girls aren't from around here. We'll have to rely on what they remember about where home is."
The Scathachian nodded slowly. "I'll help if you want me to. And if the orphanage gets overwhelmed, they can send some of the girls to the Sanctuary. We'll take care of getting them home."
The two colleagues started up the stairs slowly, leaving the rotting stink behind them. It was only then, once they ascended to the first floor that Isuelt realized she'd missed the sunrise. Mid-morning light was already streaming happily through the broken windows, past the cracked shutters and ripped curtains, spilling onto the dusty floorboards. Hope had lifted her head once more, even in this god-forsaken dwelling.
"I'll let you know," Cullen rested a hand on Isuelt's back and paused to regard her: always statuesque, clad in black, weapons both on display and hidden; but always strong, always beautiful. "Why don't you go home and get some rest," the sergeant looked away from the Judge, finding it slightly easier to gaze at the sun. "And take a shower," said with a smirk as he took his leave and started toward the door to join his men and get his day started.
Isuelt stood alone amid the shambles and chuckled. Even if she'd missed out on the sunrise, a hot bath was the only other way she could think of to inspire hope for a new day. She'd take it.