x_coriare | pig's blood

Walking along the Prinsengracht alone would normally not have been in any way extraordinary: she was nearing the Anne Frank House, somewhere she'd gone to see her first week living in the city.

She had a backpack full of flower bulbs and seeds to experiment with in her free time, and out the top a whole armful of blooms from the floating market. The veils she wore didn't attract nearly as much attention here, and she'd yet to have more tossed her way than a few mild catcalls from blocks off: a vast improvement from the outright battles she'd been particpant to in America.

Still, the idyll wouldn't have lasted long. She knew that. Sooraya turned her head when she heard someone catcall at her, but hadn't expected to have a bucket swung at her. The heavy liquid caught her full in the face as she shrieked.

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It was one of those times when the two of them had a few days to burn, staying in one place that was well and away from the site of their last job, just in case the authorities were looking for anyone by their descriptions, though it was incredibly unlikely.

It wasn't their first trip to Amsterdam and likely wouldn't be their last, it was a good city to visit, most of the time. An unexpected movement at the end of the block caught his attention, a glittering arc of something heavy, and it was only the splash of liquid and the shriek that followed that had him bolting, not even taking a moment to explain to Joe, knowing that he would follow.

The man with the now mostly-empty bucket and the combat boots went down like a bag of wet sand, the bucket tumbling away, rolling in a slow, wobbling circle and spilling the rest of its contents as it did. It only took him a moment to realize that it was actually blood and not paint, thumping the man's head against the ground with a clipped: "Where did you get that?"

Joe, for his part, approached from where he knew the young woman could actually see him coming, knowing better than to seem to sneak up on her, he was already unfolding a scarf from his shoulder bag, making a quick assessment and an equally quick assumption before addressing her in Arabic, "Little sister, I'm here to help if you would like it, my name is Joe." A pause as he cocked his head towards the man now attempting to buck Nicky off and having no success at it, "Do you know him? Ex boyfriend?"

Being hit with several gallons of blood all at once was nothing like a gentle spray of water: it was like being struck by a gloved boxer, hard. Sooraya went down in a tumble with her hands coming up over her face and her hair, now uncovered and wet. She scrubbed hard overe her face, spitting out the coppery taste and retching.

"No, no I don't know him. He just--shouted at me and I turned around," she managed, not picking her head up yet from hiding her face in her hands, trying unsuccessfully to wipe the blood off her mouth. "I don't know anyone, I just got here. Three weeks ago," she babbled, shaking her head. She was closer to looking like Joe than Nicky, obviously Arabic by birth and faith given her dress.

I want to go home."

Joe nodded at that, because it was a feeling he understood, and a water bottle came out of the bag right behind the scarf, wetting a corner of it before handing her the bottle first, "Rinse, then spit."

The man Nicky was still sitting on was at least almost trying to explain himself, and it would have gone faster, except that every time he used a slur, or cursed, Nicky jabbed him sharply just below the ribs, forcing him to choose a different word. Even so Nicky went still when the man got to explaining that it was pig's blood, something that he relayed quickly to Joe in Italian, if only because it was the first language that came out, but also because it would be easier for Joe to sympathize and explain without causing a panic.

Joe managed, barely, not to blanch at that information, hissing a quiet, sharp: "Fuck." Before explaining: "My partner says he claims it is from a pig, I am so sorry little sister." He shook his head, because he knew what that would mean for her, but he wasn't about to keep that information from her, either, and it was why he immediately followed it with: "Are you staying nearby? Can I walk you home so you can clean up?"

She took the bottle with shaking hands, rinsing her mouth and and grimacing every time she heard Nicky punchthe man who'd thrown the bucket at her: Sooraya wet the scarf that had been on her head, unpinning it from where it lay around her neck to get the rapidly-drying sticky mess off her face. It gave her pause, and made her convulse as if to retch again, when Joe told her what it was, but she bit her lip hard and shook her head.

"I need to pray," she muttered, sitting upright and looking down at her clothes at last. They were spattered and stained, and there was no way washing was going to get them clean again, not where she felt like she could wear them. Sooraya looked over at her prone attacker underneath Nicky, and felt her hands tighten to fists: under the red-brown streaks and smears, the texture of her skin seemed to shift to something like sand, but changed back as she rubbed at her face again.

She'd pray, and for forgiveness, but not for the blood. For wanting to hurt him, wanting to see him in anguish and pain for daring to do this. But she said nothing of it. "I live on the Laurierstraat," she finally managed, in English this time, perfectly understandable if faintly (strangely) tinted by New York where she'd learned it. It wasn't close enough that she'd be unnoticed getting there, unfortunately: it was about twenty minutes' walk from where they were. "My name is Sooraya, I...I don't have siblings."

"Are we not all siblings in Allah's eyes?" He asked, switching easily to English himself, looking concerned still, even as he added, "I'm Joe, that one's Nicky. We really are here to help."

His brow creased, doing a quick mental calculation as to the distance and he nodded, "That's a ways from here. Do you wish to stay until the police arrive so you can give a statement? Would you rather just get back there?" He would accept either answer, he just needed to know how to plan things, "There's a public restroom up ahead, if you'd like to wash your face and hands there we can get you home."

"I don't know how Allah can claim that one as a child," Sooraya sighed shortly as she wrapped the offered scarf over her hair: she could deal better with all this if she was at least covered the way she wanted to be. The motions were practiced, and she closed her eyes for a moment, trying to gather herself and her things back up, shaking her head.

"No, I don't want police." They might be better here than America, but she wasn't going to bet on how much nicer they'd be to a woman covered in blood, a mutant Muslim woman at that.

"...Why do you care if I get back home?" They didn't know her. She didn't know them. But she'd had dealings with overly helpful men before and it hadn't ended well. For anyone involved.

He kept both hands where she could see them, even as he called over: "Nicolo, she says no police." Nicky went completely still before he smiled, murmuring something in pleasantly-conversational Dutch to the man he was still sitting solidly on, whatever it was didn't carry, but it did make the man blanch and go still in turn.

Joe just shook his head, turning back to the young woman, "We care." He tilted his head towards Nicky, "That one, he's..." He couldn't even say it without looking entirely love-struck, even after this long, "Ya Amar." It was said with every ounce of endearment the phrase usually contained, "We know." A little shrug followed, "And we're staying not so far away from the Laurierstraat, it would be rude not to accompany you if you want the company."

"Your friend is Italian?" she asked, watching the two men and not understanding a word that was said, but faintly apprehensive anyway. Nicolo was clearly dangerous, in a way Sooraya didn't need to speak Dutch to understand.

"Your moon?" Sooraya translated, looking between them nonplussed for a moment. "Because he's pale?" Or...oh, wait, no. Sooraya knew that look, she'd definitely seen that before, and though she didn't care at all about them being...together, it was still not something easily reconciled yet. Romantic relationships at all were somewhat out of the ordinary for her. "Oh."

He had nodded at the first question, about to answer when the rest caught him a little by surprise and he just laughed, low and warm and without any sort of mockery in it, delighted that someone thought it was for so simple a reason as that.

Though he nodded when realization struck, humming some kind of agreement, "Yes 'oh' sums it up well, I think." He turned back to Nicky then, "Nicolo, if you've finished putting the fear of God in that man, it's time to go home, and walk our neighbor home on the way." He did add, "If you want the escort, you're absolutely welcome to tell me to fuck off."

His laughter was delightful and infectious, and it got Sooraya doing it as well even after he explained how to get them to leave if she wanted.

"Apologies, I didn't mean for it to sound like that. I didn't assume you were together, that's all," she chuckled. "Though if I was going to tell you to go away I'd hardly do it by telling you to fuck off. You seem alright enough so far." He'd given her a scarf and water, and was helping her get home, it could be far worse.

"...Does your Nicolo often scare people like that?"

Joe nodded, even as Nicky, who had finally let the man up, though he didn't seem entirely keen on going anywhere just yet, had hopped down from the embankment to join them on the sidewalk answered for himself: "Yes." Though it wasn't a gloat, or any kind of brag, it was just a matter-of-fact statement.

His expression was concerned as he looked the young woman over, "You're alright, though? None of the blood is actually yours?" He knew that even if none of it was, it was still a terrible thing to have happened, but he also knew that Joe was more likely to make sure she felt safe than to make sure she was uninjured, not unless it was a glaringly obvious injury.

She looked up at Nicky, slowly shaking her head.

"I think I'm alright," she said slowly, though her hip would be sore where she'd landed, and her palms were scratched from the pavement; nothing life-threatening, though. "I might have scraped my hands. But nothing else."

Sooraya tried, however unsuccessfully, to not feel wary around the man--very clearly his partner didn't, but she didn't know him. And he'd just spent the last twenty minutes threatening a neonazi into submission after having thrown a five-gallon bucket of liquid at her. Wariness was a natural reaction as far as she was concerned. "I'll find out when I can wash off, I suppose."

Nicky nodded once, keeping Joe as a buffer between the two of them, as she was -quite rightfully- wary of him, and he didn't want to come off as a threat if he could help it, "You're our neighbor, I heard?"

Joe smiled, giving a nod of his own and making sure nothing important was being left behind as he answered: "Yes, she's down on the Laurierstraat." Nicky brightened at that, "Ah! We're over on the Rozenstraat, near the record shop." One of those places that was mostly a hotel, but had a few rooms that were essentially apartments, intended for long-term stays. In other words, just the kind of place they liked.

She nodded, looking up at Nicky as she got to her feet: she could tell her hip and butt and thigh would be bruised even through the thick sticky layer of drying blood that made everything uncomfortable. Her jeans were cold, and stiff, and stuck to her in all the wrong ways and her shirt as well. "I tried to get a place there, but it was expensive. And they said they were full."

Most likely because a lone 17-year-old female brought more trouble than not in international cities. "I think your place is bigger than mine, I got a one-bedroom place. But I don't have many people over."

She turned to look at the flower blooms she'd had in her backpack, now covered in something she was not going to bring into her home, scattered on the paving stones. "Well. I guess I get different flowers now."

"We got lucky." Nicky replied to the first, "Someone had just moved out when we arrived in the city, we only had to keep ourselves busy for the day while they cleaned."

Joe, however, nodded at the comment about the flowers, toeing at one of the fallen blooms, "These weren't meant to be, it seems." His brow creased a little, "Would you like me to carry it so it doesn't get any worse?" Keeping the bag against an already blood-saturated shirt wouldn't help anything, whereas Joe carrying it gave it a chance to dry out and even flake off a little. But he would entirely understand if she wanted to keep it close anyway.

She chuckled at the idea of them being so well-timed: she didn't hold any malice, she had a place to live and it suited her and she could afford it. But the flowers made her smile fall a bit: they weren't going to be salvageable, it wasn't like she could wash them.

"You want to carry my bag?" she asked to make sure--switching back to Arabic, because it had been a while since she could easily converse in it with someone, brows lifting as she held the strap, not yet pulling it over a shoulder. "I will tackle you if you run off with my stuff," she warned lightly, hesitant to hand it over just yet.

"I guess I'll get some silk ones. I was going to make a wreath for the front door."

"To give it a chance to dry out." He agreed to the question, nodding at the threat, an easy incline of his head, laughing warmly again, "I'll deserve it if I do."

Nicky, for his part, was surveying the flowers and slotting them together as a wreath in his mind, finally shaking his head a little, "These would do, but there's better flowers for that." His brow furrowed, realizing how that sounded and giving a little shake of his head: "Unless that's the design you wanted, who am I to correct your artistic ability?"

"Yes, you will," she replied, easygoing even if she would have to flay him alive. Being mean didn't get her anywhere.

"Nobody had hibiscus," Sooraya said to Nicky, shaking her head at the flowers on the ground. "I have silk monstera leaves, but didn't have the flowers to go with them. And I don't know where to get silk flowers here," she finished with a shrug. Had she known, it would have made many things much easier: but she didn't speak Dutch very well yet, and passing with the English and French she'd learned only got her so far.

"Hibiscus would be lovely." That was an easy agreement, Nicky was rather fond of hibiscus, both as a flower and as a flavoring, "Though it's still early in the season for most of them." He shook his head, "And for artificial ones I would not know, I haven't been here long enough to find the crafts store."

Joe had waited until she actually handed the bag over, not about to try reaching for it. He looped both straps over one arm, keeping the bag turned towards him, but leaving the bloodied side to the open air so it would dry as they walked, "That's because neither of us has ventured much further than the record store and the Japanese restaurant before today." He replied to Nicky's statement, clearly amused.

"I'm glad you decided to walk along this way," she murmured, watching Joe as he shifted her backpack. It was denim and canvas, sturdy but old, and very clearly patched. Some of the repairs were sewn with neat, precise stitches, and some had ironed-on patches over them of various things, cartoon characters or location tags.

"There's Nepalese food back that way," Sooraya said, pointing the way she'd come. It had been a detour from the flower market on her way back home, but the taste of something different had been worth it."Monkey Temple. The samosas are halal."

Nicky brightened at that, "Did you hear that, Joe?" Joe laughed softly, nodding, "I did. We'll have to go further next time, it seems. The sushi restaurant is lovely as well, all rice vinegar, no mirin." Which likewise meant it was halal, he hadn't asked, the hostess had just made sure to tell him, which he appreciated even when he wasn't strictly keeping to the laws himself, hadn't for a while "And vegetarian options, real ones."

That made Nicky snort a laugh in turn, they had been to plenty of places offering a 'vegetarian' menu, only to find that it was a side salad or some kind of green bean and broccoli monstrosity. Or worse: fish.

Sooraya snorted. "Not just a salad, then?" she asked.

"It's easier here than in America to keep the laws. At least where I was in America--Westchester county. Very suspicious, very rich. Very white." None of which Sooraya was. She glanced at Nicky. "No offense."

"None assumed." He replied easily, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, "Unlike most, I know when I'm not the one being talked about."

Joe chuckled at the reply, but gave a nod, "Westchester area's pretty at least. Or it was the last time we were there." Though he couldn't remember quite when that had been, just that there had been a helluva party in New Rochelle, though he wasn't sure whether it had been due to politics or some other cause, like the announcement of the end of a war, or someone's safe return after a journey.

"It's very pretty," she agreed easily as they walked; first they were headed for a washroom where she could clean her face and her hands, then heading towards where they were staying. Nicky and Joe's place wasn't terribly far from her own.

"The mansion--the school I went to--is old for American standards. But it felt like a cage, when everyone watches everything you do, like they're scared of you." Sooraya had never enjoyed that part. The people around them distrusted them because of what they were; it was an all too familiar and unsettling feeling. "So I decided to find somewhere else."

And ended up in Amsterdam. At least for a while.

They didn't really intend to take up sentry positions to either side of the washroom door, making sure she had privacy until she was done -not that anyone else even came by- but they did anyway.

The same way they pointedly didn't say anything about what would happen later that evening, even though they both knew.

The mention of a school niggled something at the back of Joe's mind, but he couldn't pin it down just yet so he didn't try, it would surface soon enough, but he nodded at the reasoning, because that he could understand, "We travel fairly often as well, for similar reasons." A smile followed, "Though I hope today hasn't spoiled Amsterdam for you, most of it is actually lovely."

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Sooraya Qadir

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