Alim Arslan Yafir & Errol Demir
The day to embark on the expedition quickly befell them. With the bright sun high in the sky, it signaled that the time for doubts or wary queries had long since passed. Now was the time for action.
With a dark woven hood pulled tightly over his head, Errol left the abandoned building he had resided in the last few weeks. Although the dilapidated structure was one of the few places he could rest his head, with his crumbling constitution it would not be sorely missed. In fact, with the promises that were made, he hoped that he would never again have to live in such squalor again.
As he scurried onto the street, he kept his head low while blending in with the other pedestrians. His steps ebbed and flowed with the crowd, taking extra caution not to draw any undue attention. Though, with the congestion along every footpath, it made moving unnoticed an easy task.
While he drew closer to the bazaar, the usual shouts from persistent merchants that usually filled the air, were muffled by cheers. Errol climbed atop a pallet to get a better look, only to discover the presence of a protest brewing. As he climbed back down and paused a moment in thought, wondering if he should avoid the bazaar, and take an alternate route.
Alim emerged from the shadows of an alleyway, eyes darting around as always. He'd spent the last two days living in the backroom of a former 'associate' in the slums - he was less than happy to find Alim alive and knocking on his door for refuge, especially in the wake of that unsuccessful uprising. The man was waiting near the gates right before they closed on him, which gave Alim no choice but to seek out Habbas' house like the others. His alias as Aysar the Talkative, a humble mute servant, was rather useful when avoiding authorities and nosey civilians passing by.
Well, 'mute', until he saw Errol alongside him.
When Errol spotted a familiar face in the crowd, swift steps through the dense crowd brought him towards Alim. With a tentative hand, he patted the other on the back.
"Sir?" He spoke in a hushed voice.
"We meet again it seems." Errol shifted his hood, allowing the other to get a better look at his face.
The ardent criminal spoke up in hushed whispers, his hand narrowly concealing a knife. He would've given Errol a dagger to the throat for his troubles if the bird-man were a city guard, but quick eyes stayed the blade, and the Lion's posture relaxed - relatively.
"Don't sneak up on me like that. You know what's going on up ahead?"
The glint of the dagger caught Errol's gaze as he hastily took a step back.
"My mistake…" It appeared that although they had similar goals, it would do him well to keep the other at a distance. When the blade disappeared, the youth hesitantly turned to face the crowd.
"Some kind of protest." The words hinted at his annoyance.
"It's drawing some dangerous attention." With a glance to the side, Errol subtly pointed out a trio of guards advancing towards the center of the bazaar.
Protest, now that's a word that stuck out to Alim. To the Alim of older times, it was a ripe opportunity both to rile up the local population and give the law enforcers a run for their money; a source of multiple flashpoints from many actors, setting the stage for a disaster of city-ending proportions if the fires are fanned just right by an artist of madness such as himself. But this was not the Alim of older times, who sought out city officials to murder at night and corrupt officials to bribe and exploit. This was an Alim without friends in high places, and also an Alim avoiding trouble. Right now, the protest was an obstacle for him and Errol.
Or was it? It need not be. Alim turned back to Errol, with a curious, sinister smile on his face. "
Say, I hear you Birds are pretty quick. Your hands also go that fast?"
Errol's eyes narrowed at Alim's comment. Despite going out of his way to hide his aspect traits, it seemed that the other somehow discovered the truth. Although an uneasy feeling began to grow inside of him, he pushed it aside for the moment.
"The swiftness of my hands are unrivaled," He announced proudly, playfully puffing out his chest.
Alim responded with glee.
"Then let's make some profit." With that, he grabbed Errol as gently as possible by the shoulders, and marched with intent toward the bumbling group of civilians.
Getting through the perimeter was easy enough - Alim had developed an eye for guard patterns and behavior - and the duo snuck through beneath the armpit of a businessman being outraged at a guard's arrest attempt. Twisting and turning through the crowd, the veteran beast took care in handling the delicate beastman like a hawk looking out for her hatchling; anyone light enough to shove was shoved, anyone too heavy to shove was circumvented and dodged, with Alim's left arm firmly wrapped around Errol's shoulder.
Errol stuck close to Alim, letting the man guide them through the crowd. In such a congested place, it wouldn't be hard for someone like Errol to get shoved to the ground. As he felt the arm on his shoulder, it was almost reassuring. As they moved through the crowd, Errol got to work on proving his words to be true. With each abrupt shove, Errol was able to use the abrupt contact to steal jewelry right off their arms. With each unassuming figure they passed, his nimble fingers expertly retrieved the bag of coin from their pockets. It was almost too easy, like taking candy from a baby. All thanks to the man distracting the many onlookers.
They had almost made it through the rowdy congregation when the arrests were being made more obvious - the guards moved faster, their patience made thinner by the crowd, who had been stirred into even more of a fervor by their radicalizing orator up top (who was doing a lousy job, Alim might add). The sea of men and women soon became more agitated as the sharks closed in for the kill, and the minnow tried to save themselves.
"We need to move faster."
The sudden eruption of chaos amongst the crowd meant that their task had become enveloped with danger. As screams of anger and panic echoed around them, Errol felt his own heart rate rise. Alim on the other hand kept his cool - a panicked head breeds only stupid ideas. The duo began shoving their way through more aggressively, with intent behind every movement. There was but a quarter of the way to go, and-
And then they both went fucking deaf. Something, or someone, had just deafened the entire bazaar with a screech or an explosion or something, it feels like. Alim thanked the gods they'd pushed through that area before the noise - but cursed the gods again as the guards on this end became violent in response. Thinking quickly, the man kicked a nearby blacksmith in the ass, shoving him at the nearest guard before making a mad dash in the slipstream of the victim's beatdown and arrest.
The thunderous explosion stopped Errol dead in his tracks, covering his sensitive ears as the noise pierced his eardrums. His feathers ruffled under his cloak, and his flight response quickly kicked in. His head was still spinning, and he was suddenly thankful to have Alim by his side as he led them away from the violence.
Alim covered the lower half of his face with part of his turban cloth just before they appeared. As they breached the outer rim of defenses, the duo laid their eyes on the pandemonium of the crowd's border: resisting men and women beaten to the ground regardless of status and age; new reinforcements arriving to take suspects away with their necks pressured by service truncheons; the crying and yelling of citizens on the ground with hands on their heads, experiencing the long arm of the law firsthand and getting a mouthful of dirt in the process. All pretense of secrecy and innocence was forfeited, and the pair ran like hell. Errol's innate swiftness allowed him to keep pace with Alim, his feet moving over the ground as if he were gliding.
The first few guards taking care of the apprehended suspects were caught unaware by the renegades, calling out futile orders like 'Stop them!' or 'Halt!' or some such. By the time anyone could react, the two of them had made it halfway across the perimeter, indiscriminately stomping on arrested people as they crossed. Yelps, whimpers and angered yells followed Alim's heavy footfalls, but when did he care? A reinforcing guard tried to tackle one of them - Alim reached at a nearby market stall and gave the lawman a raw taste of food pallet to the neck.
As they reached proper buildings, another pair of enterprising 'protectors' attempted to grab both of them at the same time. Alim roughly pushed Errol aside, physically indicating that it's time to 'split' - Errol understood the signal. One of the guards' eyes followed the bird to the side, and Alim utilized that split second to lean into the other guard's embrace, giving him a knee right to the royal jewels between his legs.
The other guard managed to swing right back and grab Alim by his left hand, and began swinging at his head with a truncheon. Taking the blows with no grace at all, Alim's free arm reached into his pockets - fingers grasping his knives - and drew them for the kill. Or at least he would've, if it weren't for the fact that his employer will be embarking from a guarded gate checkpoint, a task that would be made more difficult with a dead city guard and a dirtied blade - plus, they hadn't even seen his face yet. Content in this knowledge, Alim swung at the guard with the butt of the knife instead, finding meaty purchase in the lawman's eye socket before running away, as the vice grip loosened in pain. With luck, the guard will see out of that eye by the month's end - or at all.
As Errol ran away from the scene his head drew over his shoulder to watch. The quickness that his feet once had was subdued, as he waited to see if the other was able to get away. As he saw Alim fighting the guards, he nearly turned back to help. However, with the final blow dealt to the guards eye, he was able to leave with the peace of mind that he wasn't abandoning Alim.
Alim continued running like hell towards Habbas' house. Once he arrived, he would enter, same as before. Errol, likewise, sprinted towards Habbas's compound with every ounce of energy he had. As the shouts and cries of the bazaar faded with distance, the youth refused to slow his pace until he was through the large gates.
