(Human form)Something hard collided with the side of his head. It was a dismembered hand. Had he not been used to that sort of thing Travers would have screamed. From the middle of the bar a fire roared, growing up the curtains and eating its way around the room. He wasn't really paying attention to that now, despite the fact it was heading for the floor below them-- Where the brewery was. Where a good percentage of the alcohol in the City of Inkling was kept. It wasn't even that which was troubling him, the fire wasn't the thing that was weilding knives in his general direction. It wasn't the fire that was about to punch him in the face. He didn't even drink and he was in the midst of a bar fight, infact the whole bar was in the midst of a bar fight. Tables were in splinters, chairs were on fire the walls were covered in blood, ink and paint, imbedded with knives and arrows, not to mention the fact that they were on fire too. Still the fiddle players carried on, only stopping when one of them was shot. Quickly they retreated behing one of the only tables left in tact. Oh, wait-- the only table left in tact. Screams and racous laughter could be heard from down the street, along with gunshots and the muffling sound of a fire burning. The heat within the pub was stunning, it could burn a man from several feet away.
The unfortunate youth coughed, pressing a hand to the cut that ran down the side of his face. He dodged through the fighting crowd, only stopping to duck when some one swung a sheep at him. The youth was rather skinny for his age, his brown hair was filthy and too long to have been cut lately. At that point in time he was covered in soot and the paint that ran down his neck from the cut. Being an artist it meant he bled paint, being an artist meant he was never going to have a quiet life either. He'd have really liked a quiet life. He managed to get a good way down to street before the whole place erupted into flames. After the adreniline faded slightly the full extent of his injuries began to hit him. He held one hand awkwardly it felt fractured, it was just lucky it wasn't his left. Travers was left handed, as it happened.
As he was trying to work out if he still had ten fingers or double vision he felt a hand grasp around his shoulder. Without looking back he pulled away rushing inside the nearest building, the figure ran after him. Heels. So it was a female, who ever this woman was he didn't like her one little bit. He ran into room, like the rest of the building it was boarded up and provided no means of escape.
"Draw." The woman spat, her voice lined with malice. Her heels clicked in a dull manner upon the rotted wooden floor.
"I paint." He growled as a perfectly manacured nail pressed against a vein.
"Then paint." She retorted.
Idiot. He thought, removing a paintbrush from his coat pocket. After a moment of consideration he began to paint. It seemed to be a large painting, as Travers moved slightly to the side the woman's smile faded. He'd drawn a hole in the brickwork, the wind whistled through it. The youth shot the woman a smile as he dodged out of her grasp and jumped.
He landed hard falling onto a balcony, he smiled and swung down further his feet hitting the black stone of the city. Despite jarring his fractured hand he seemed to be miraculously unharmed. It was only then he did something no artist should ever do, he let his guard down. For a moment, instead of running he took the time to catch his breath. It was then a much bigger (presumably male) figure grabbed him from behind.
~***~
"He paints with his left hand, I saw him!" The hissing female voice exclaimed to her male friend, who only grunted in reply. He threw the youth in the back before going up to talk to the figure at the front of the cart. Travers was deathly pale, that and his several injuries one might have mistaken him for dead. After a moment of laying perfectly still he swore, clearly still living. He rubbed his head gingerly, keeping his fractured right held somewhat awkwadly. "Why is this always me?" He aksed no one in particular. Traver's hadn't yet noticed that wasn't alone, he was too busy trying to work out how to escape with no paint nor any brushes.
(Failed with the ending there, sorry for the wait. Computer issues. o3o;; <3 )
