Years and years of training were overriding any logical thought Ridahne might have had in that moment. Sure, they weren’t doing anything overly suspicious. They didn’t even seem like they’d seen her. So what was making her feel this way? She didn’t understand it herself, but she knew without a doubt that no matter what was happening, it would be better if she wasn’t around. She was walking fast now, regretting the extra beer she had. If she hadn’t been drinking, she could have carried her knives at least (in this part of the world, it wasn’t as polite or normal to have a full sword on your back or at your hip like it was in Azurei). But now she was a bit intoxicated and unarmed and she felt naked and stupid, clumsy as she pushed her way through the milling throngs. 

Had they seen her? Would they be following her? And if they were....what was she supposed to do?

Paranoid, Ridahne turned her head even as she slid past two dawdling people. And just as her neck gave a full twist, it happened. 

A ripping, tearing, rending sound like the universe itself had been torn asunder burst through the air, deafening her with its intense volume. And then there was fire. Bright, hot, angry fire mixing with inky black smoke. She was too far away to feel it’s heat, but she did feel the rush of air that moved before it. Two more similar bangs sounded somewhere in the distance and before she knew it, the sky was filled with acrid smoke and the sound of panicked screams. 

Ridahne began a full out sprint now, coughing and wheezing. The stage where the chancellor had been was gone. Just gone. And in its place was just fire and ash and smoke. Chaos reigned supreme as panic spread further and deeper through the crowd. She had to get out of here. Anywhere. Just away.

In the turmoil, Ridahne became loosely aware of some local cops moving very fast and very purposely towards her, shouting and pointing angrily.  She couldn’t make out what they were saying, but she didn’t need to be told outright that they were coming for her, thinking she was a suspect. Of course. If anyone noticed that the Taja had done something, they’d be wary of any Azurei—after all, only veterans of the old war really could tell the difference between a Taja and anyone else just by a quick glance. They would see her tattoos, her face, her clothes, and all that anyone would know is that she was there, and she was Azurei.

That was not a good combination. 

Ridahne’s flight became a mad dash for survival now, more than it had been. Still, the cops were  stuck in a thick crowd and she was very fast. Would they really be able to ca—

A dull thud reverberated all through her skull as something very hard struck her forehead and she staggered. In that split second of dazed sluggishness she felt multiple hands on her arms and something inside her snapped back to awareness. With surprising speed and strength, she pried herself out of the civilian’s hands, decked the nearest one right in the soft part of the temple, kicked another’s chest, and she dashed away. 

Ridahne was fast and had long legs, and the confusion worked to shield her from those who knew what was going on...or thought they did. She was able to get out of the crowd and into a clearer street, where she put her head down and ran with all the last vestiges of speed and energy that she had to find a place to hide. But she was off balance from the drink and from that blow to the head. Something in her felt sick from all the adrenaline as her ears rung, her lungs burned from more than just overexertion, and her legs ached and felt weak under her. 

Ridahne thought of the blast. The fire. The smoke, the screaming as everywhere around her, people either descended into panic or, a bit further away, people were dying. Actually dying. Ridahne was not a stranger to death, but not like this. She was 18 when the war ended, and recalled now with a sharp, fresh clarity what it was like to experience bombings back then as a child. She remembered her brother Hadian grabbing her and near throwing her into a bunker as he followed close behind. She remembered the day her mom died. She remembered spitting at soldiers as they passed through her poor little town. 

Ridahne remembered the young man serving beer. The woman who ran the tea shop. The veteran soldier who had sat with her there. Where was he, now? He who had survived the war, who came to celebrate its end…she’d snapped at him. She was less than kind to him. Was that what he was thinking of in his last moments? Or did he even have the time?

She blinked. She wasn’t running anymore. The sky above her was now an ashen gray-blue, though the smoke was thinner here than it was at the epicenter. She was on the ground. It took some time to realize this, and it wasn’t until she paid attention to the cool of pavement under her fingers that she realized she’d stumbled and fallen, and had been there for at least a full minute. Damn. She felt horrible. Slow, sluggish, and her thoughts and movements rebelled against her. How far had she run? Not far enough, probably.  She touched her forehead and her slender fingers came away red and a little wet.

Ridahne would have stayed there, crumpled on the alley pavement until she either slipped into unconsciousness or stabilized, but she heard fast footsteps approaching and entering the alley. There was no time to rest. Her mind raced. She had nothing to defend herself, not even the little pistol she kept. Desperately, her hand reached out and grabbed the first thing it touched and gripped it hard. A rusty, discarded length of heavy chain was in her grip now. It would have to do.

Like a prize heavyweight boxer staggering up when she should have stayed down and taken the defeat, Ridahne swayed and lurched to her unsteady feet, giving the length of chain one quick, circular twirl. She backed against the wall in a fighting stance and gave a feral, daring snarl at the figure entering the alleyway. The little trickle of blood from her head had streaked down in one jagged red line over her black, white, and indigo tattoos. The tendril had reached her mouth, giving her teeth a bloodstained pinkish hue. She looked like a cornered and crippled wolf who had not yet decided she was finished putting up a fight. 

[I]”Talei si ajirih, talei ja’aiye!”[/I] ((You come closer, you die.)) Ridahne did not feel very confident, weaponless and out-of-sorts as she was, but she would let no part of her body language or tone reveal that if she could help it. She was innocent. And if someone wanted to try and take her down, she would not go without a fight. It never once occurred to her that fighting at a moment like that would be unwise, that it would not help her case as a suspect. But Ridahne was a fighter to her bones. She was fire, hot and bright. She was stone, hard and unmoving. She would not surrender herself to the hands of foreign law.