Let’s Talk About This

Something had gone wrong. Voah should have already emerged from up above and be beside him. Had she been hit? Did the flooring collapse based on that loud sound he heard? His heart sank into a tar pit of worry; however, any further thinking on the matter was abruptly cut short by a thin wooden messenger of death that just missed his head.

Gonyaul bridge rolled away from the wall as if he lacked a spine, only to get hit from behind and sent forward in the opposite direction. He cried out loudly as the impact automatically forced air out of his lungs and past his mouth. It felt like a very strong kick; however, it was odd to his senses. For starters, it didn’t feel like a foot and there was no one close to him to deliver such a stinging blow.

He landed on all fours gritting his teeth in a wince and spun around into a crouching position, making himself small as he turned to size up whatever was threatening him. A Vaux is trained to pay attention to that which brings fear, because paying attention gathers information and gives one the chance to rise in a hierarchy of competency. He evaluated a man with an bow and a woman with a sling. Oh! The pain radiating along his back was whistle blowing that it was the woman that sent it. And she was about to send another.

Gonyaul trained his whole life to redirect, dodge and simply avoid fights, with the best version of that tactic was to not to get into one in the first place. It did not appear like he had a choice at the moment, but perhaps he could remedy this big misunderstanding. Make them see reason and then go find Voah was the new goal.

As the sling’s projectile came wizzing towards his upper midsection, Gonyaul leaned back in an instant. It looked like he flatted into a pancake and the flowing robes made him almost look like a moving puddle of water. He already knew where the rock was heading before it went there, thanks to endless hours of efficiently practicing to not pay as much attention to the thing coming as the body language and equipment angle of that which sends it. In short, the projectile will go only where and how it was told.

Gonyaul’s momentum didn’t stop at the dodge. After throwing his hands and upper body back on his heals towards the ground, the projectile just missing him, he continued rolling backwards and he was once again crouched and facing them in order to focus his attention. His deep dark eyes in the shadows of the alley and the way he moves made him appear as a demonic nightmare trapped behind a beautiful face.

He didn’t have time yet to gain understanding through communication, because a couple of seconds later another arrow was released as he gathered it would be. The arrow was aiming for a very small compact target that suddenly erupted into energy. His entire person had been coiled like a cat ready to pounce. He sprung to the side into what looked like a cartwheel. The folds of the robes opening like sails and completely obscuring his form underneath into what looked like a rolling pancake instead of a flat one. He coiled up small again and locked eyes on them, ignoring the arrow stuck in the ground where he had once been.

He could tell they were preparing for another round. He didn’t have much time. He shouted in Ozaniae tongue, his thick Vauxian accent very noticeable. “Please stop, friend … friend ...talk.”

He was hoping they would pause and open up a line of communication with him. They could settle this civilly without the need for violence. Perhaps they would hear his accent and see his face and see he meant no harm; or at the least recognize he wasn’t what they wanted to harm. Based on his target audience, though Gonyaul was not going to drop his defense. He remained as small as possible, using the numerous shadows and his robes to hide how his body was coiled and positioned beneath. He made no attempt yet to advance on them and no aggressive sounds or gestures. In fact, if they were able to read the very clear tone in his voice it sounded like he genuinely meant it when he said friend.