Seduction

         Blood stained the wood of the bar's floor, as the man staggered through the door, with the warm red liquid running off his fingers. The men and women at their tables did nothing but turn their heads. They were used to the men walking through doors, with deadly wounds. The man held the dagger that was in his abdomen, and stumbled, landing with his fist slammed down on the nearest table to hold his weight. Murmurs could be heard now, but it was only gossip, and the man cursed them for not showing any concern. The wound he had received was not from the war, but they could not have known that. They were much too involved in their own lives, their gossip, of what was happening around them. They were no good at lending a hand, for they were the receivers at the end of the wire.
         He was too weak to hold his consciousness, so he allowed himself to sink to his knees. One vision held itself to his memory as he fell, the image of a man kissing the woman beside him. A tear rolled slowly down his face because of the nerve that the image struck, and then blankness overpowered his senses.

         His abdomen felt warm as he regained his bearings, and he knew that Amelia had come through for him, though he was alone when he awoke. The warmth, he realized, was simply a built up hunger in his stomach. He was lying on a soft bed, tucked under thick blankets, which seemed to act as a restraint to hold him where he was. His voice cracked, and then turned into an exhalation of air, as he called out into the room.
         Another bed against the far wall was spotted, as his eyes shifted about, getting used to the darkness of the room. Someone lied just as he did, on the other bed. A woman, he thought to himself as his eyes traced the outline of her body through the blankets that restrained her. They sidled up from her feet, to her thighs, to the slight upward curves, that were her breasts. His eyes lingered momentarily, realizing how young the 'women' must be, before moving on again, and he reached her face. Though shadows concealed most of her features, he could see the almond shape of her eyes and the frowning pucker her lips made.
         Her eyes were on him, but he passed over hers, so not to surprise her, and let her determine his obedience. His eyes traced the mortar lines holding the cinderblock walls together, and he figured he was in some kind of makeshift bomb shelter. He grimaced, and shut his eyes tight as he came to the only source of light in the room, a moonlit window. The man could feel the eyes of the girl on his neck, and knew he could not deny her any longer, so he opened his eyes slowly and made his eyesight shift back towards the girl. His eyes stopped, and were held on the girl's own, which showed calmness and reassurance.
         The man's lips parted, but the girl's arm came from the blankets and put a finger to her lips, and the man closed his mouth. He stared in wonder at how easily the girl had loosened the blanket's hold on her limbs, but found out that it was only his brain that did not recognize the orders to move. He slid first one leg up, so that it stood bent in front of him, and then the next, and used them as resistance to push his torso up next, to sit in an uncomfortable sitting position.
         The girl followed his movements, and did the exact same, but put her legs down and crossed them as she sat up. She turned and smiled at the man, and he thought of how beautiful she was.
         "Queme sol Margene," the girl said, in a hushed tone full of a rich accent that he could not place, and the man felt his face turn into an expression of confusion.
         "Excuse me?" he asked back towards the girl, and she only nodded. Her eyes shifted down towards her legs, as she tried to think of the language the man was speaking. She remembered her teachings from when she was a child, and tried to slur syllables together that she would normally leave apart to form the language he was speaking in her head.
         "I am called, Margene," the girl repeated and the man nodded, the look of confusion faded from his face.
         "I am," he paused trying to remember what his commander told him to call himself, if he ever was noticed, and he began to panic as the girl stared at him. He decided to go with his real name, "Duncan," and wondered if she might think it was fake instead of real, so he reassured himself that he could just come up with some elaborate scheme of escape if the need arose.
         "Duncan," the girl said recreating the sounds on her tongue, "I, do not, comprehend Englisa, very well."
         "Englisa?" Duncan asked and grinned, "Where are you from, girl?"
         "I cannot, reply. I am meant to say, you are asked for," Margene said slowly, making sure to say every sound she must, without skipping anything.
         "And who is asking for me?"
         "You shoul see for your own," she finished and pointed towards a door that seemed to become noticeable only after the girl pointed it out. Duncan stood up, and swayed slightly, as if his legs would not hold his weight, but he held his footing firmly and slowly took a step towards the door. Standing, waiting, he decided that the girl had no more information for him, and he opened the door and was knocked instantly backwards as sound, and light hit his senses fully.