Encounterlogs
Nehas Odd Encounter Sr Rogier 241106
Neha, a doctor preparing for her early morning shift, finds herself once again the target of an abduction, not even a week after the last one. Sedated and whisked away in the dead of night, she is transported by the same perpetrator – a member of the Syndicate, it seems – to an undisclosed location near the sea, with high cliffs nearby suggesting their proximity to the ocean. Despite the attempt to maintain a level of professionalism and detachment, Neha can't help but let out groans of annoyance and discomfort, acutely aware of her situation's bleakness. Her kidnapper, maintaining a degree of callous professionalism, informs her that she might as well rest while she can, as her stay with them wouldn't be comfortable. Despite the direness of her predicament, Neha's thoughts drift to the practical, such as the quality of the roads they're traveling on and her communicating her dietary preferences once she's imprisoned.
As her imprisonment stretches on, Neha is forced to confront the unpleasant reality of her situation, including the lack of basic amenities and the uncertainty of her release. Her musings are interrupted by Taj, communicating through magic, who promises a daring rescue. True to his word, Taj, embodying the very essence of an action hero from a thrilling cinematic adventure, breaches the kidnappers' hideout. With a display of martial prowess and magical ability, he swiftly overcomes the Syndicate members, rescuing Neha with a flair that seems to belong more to mythology than the modern streets of Haven. Neha finds herself whisked away on horseback, struggling with the unfamiliarity of the situation but gradually warming to Taj's heroics and protective demeanor. Despite her initial reluctance, the shared adrenaline and Taj's assurance of her safety under the watch of the House of Vishu might be planting seeds for future entanglements beyond professional appreciation or mere gratitude for her rescue.
(Neha's odd encounter(SRRogier):SRRogier)
[Tue Nov 5 2024]
In a regal, Edwardian bedroom
Brimming with historical charm and elegance, this expansive bedroom has high ceilings and large, sash windows that allow the natural light to pour in to the spacious bedroom. The interior lighting is soft and warm, emanating from strategically placed lamps with fringed and beaded shades as well as a central chandelier of brass and crystal that serves as an absolutely stunning focal point. Embellished with Damask-patterned wallpaper in shades of burgundy and gold across the walls' upper halves, it is beautifully complemented by the richness of dark wood wainscoting below. Matching hardwood flooring is highly polished, enhancing the herringbone pattern and its natural grain, and a few antique, Persian rugs with intricate designs tie in with the room's colour scheme.
It is night, about 49F(9C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds. It's raining outside. There is a waxing crescent moon.
(Your target is abducted in their sleep, waking up alone in a locked room. They need to either escape or draw attention to them so their allies can come and provide assistance.
)
Whether it's late or early is one of those things that can be debated over without ever changing a thing, but it's nearing three in the morning, which means it's time for Neha to get ready for work. You could call that night shift or early morning shift; doesn't matter. More pertinently, Neha's alarm isn't going off, and getting ready for work isn't happening. In fact, she's not even dreaming - Neha's properly unconscious, sedated by chemical means in her sleep. Standard Haven practice, really, but no one's spiriting off to Narnia with her phone or any of the usual fun stuff.
She awakens with her face banging into the side of some thin metal wall. She's been blackbagged again, her hands are ziplocked behind her back, and her ankles are tied together again as well. She's in a van, actually - the vibrations of the vehicle can be felt where she's lying on her side. Hell, the bag over her head /smells/ familiar. Is this the same damn kidnapper? It hasn't even been a week! Maybe he missed her.
A speaker behind the drivers' rear-view window crackles as it transmits a message: "You might as well go back to sleep, Doctor Pandit," it says. /He/ says. It's the same guy after all. "While the drugs are still kicking around in your system. You're going to have trouble going to sleep once you're there."
It's no wonder the driver had known she was awake: Neha had let out an annoyed, I'm-so-fucking-done-with-this-shit sort of groan immediately as soon as she'd come back to consciousness and found herself not in her bed. Maybe her supervisor would understand her not being present for her shift on time again. Instead of 'my dog ate my homework', it's 'I got kidnapped by the Syndicate again', here in Haven. She squirms around like a slug until her face isn't banging into the wall with every little bump of the van in futile hopes of getting slightly more comfortable - good luck with that one - and blinks blearily into the darkness. Nothing to see here.
Her hands strain behind her back. Nope, nothing to do there either. Neha just lets out a sigh and closes her eyes again. Maybe /this/ is the dream and she just needs to wake up from it. She can try.
Her head throbs under the coarse grain of the black bag. The zipties aren't cutting off her circulation, at least, but she can feel every heartbeat through the way her pulse hammers against the plastic restraints, as if they might weather away like a stony cliff before the tide. Even more discomfort seeps in with the bumpiness of laying flat against the bottom of the van, where she can just about feel the grains in the road below. And the /potholes/. Road maintenance might hold more weight as an electoral promise for the good doctor, going forward.
The van's not so cliche as to offer a 'muffled roar' as it winds its way through the town, at least. It's a van for criminal activities; the Syndicate probably put effort into keeping their vehicles quiet and discreet. Still, that's not to say the trip is at all silent - if Neha focuses a little, she might make out the crashing of the bay. The water's hitting something, so she's probably near the cliffs, not the beach. The salt on the air insists there's some proximity at the least.
(fix) Her head throbs under the coarse grain of the black bag. The zipties aren't cutting off her circulation, at least, but she can feel every heartbeat through the way her pulse hammers against the plastic restraints, as if they might weather away like a stony cliff before the tide. Even more discomfort seeps in with the bumpiness of laying flat against the bottom of the van, where she can just about feel the grains in the road below. And the /potholes/. Road maintenance might hold more weight as an electoral promise for the good doctor, going forward.
The van's not so cliche as to offer a 'muffled roar' as it winds its way through the town, at least. It's a van for criminal activities; the Syndicate probably put effort into keeping their vehicles quiet and discreet. Still, that's not to say the trip is at all silent - if Neha focuses a little, she might make out the crashing of the bay. The water's hitting something, so she's probably near the cliffs, not the beach. The salt on the air insists there's some proximity at the least.
And right as her mind wanders far enough, right as the last of that chemical lethargy and the darkness begin to drag her over, the van rolls over a speed bump quickly enough that Neha's head bounces up and smacks back down onto the metal floor beneath her.
the speaker crackles. That's all, though.
The drive stays like that, alas, and true to Mister Syndicate's words, the ability to doze off evaporates with the last of the drugs. Now her body rejected sleep. Lo, the drawbacks of using sedatives - once you're on them, you need them!
Finally, the van comes to a stop, and the the driver hops out of the van before popping the back open, looking down at her. "Alright," he says. "I'm going to pick you up. Don't kick. I'll take the bag off when you're back in yoru room. We'll see if Mister Taj feels like spending some more money on you, hm?"
Her head throbs under the coarse grain of the black bag. The zipties aren't cutting off her circulation, at least, but she can feel every heartbeat through the way her pulse hammers against the plastic restraints, as if they might weather away like a stony cliff before the tide. Even more discomfort seeps in with the bumpiness of laying flat against the bottom of the van, where she can just about feel the grains in the road below. And the /potholes/. Road maintenance might hold more weight as an electoral promise for the good doctor, going forward.
The van's not so cliche as to offer a 'muffled roar' as it winds its way through the town, at least. It's a van for criminal activities; the Syndicate probably put effort into keeping their vehicles quiet and discreet. Still, that's not to say the trip is at all silent - if Neha focuses a little, she might make out the crashing of the bay. The water's hitting something, so she's probably near the cliffs, not the beach. The salt on the air insists there's some proximity at the least.
And right as her mind wanders far enough, right as the last of that chemical lethargy and the darkness begin to drag her over, the van rolls over a speed bump quickly enough that Neha's head bounces up and smacks back down onto the metal floor beneath her.
"Sorry," the speaker crackles. That's all, though.
The drive stays like that, alas, and true to Mister Syndicate's words, the ability to doze off evaporates with the last of the drugs. Now her body rejected sleep. Lo, the drawbacks of using sedatives - once you're on them, you need them!
Finally, the van comes to a stop, and the the driver hops out of the van before popping the back open, looking down at her. "Alright," he says. "I'm going to pick you up. Don't kick. I'll take the bag off when you're back in yoru room. We'll see if Mister Taj feels like spending some more money on you, hm?" (fix again)
If this was a dream, Neha would've woken up ages ago. As it is, she's having an absolutely terrible time wide awake, more than a little disoriented, and with a familiar nausea trying to creep its way up her throat from all the bouncing and head-hitting and potholing she's gone through. "Hey," she calls out for fair warning, voice a little scratchy. "I get carsick. I'm going to throw up." He can't say she didn't warn her when she pukes all over him - though that would be entirely too sub-optimal considering she'd also be puking all over /herself/, with the bag and all.
The van comes to a stop, and Neha feels the cool air against her skin immediately when the back is popped open, even if the inside of the bag remains stifling and claustrophobia-inducing, the woman holding herself very still. She doesn't look like she's got any plans to begin kicking, considering her legs being tied as well, and her attempts to cease the churning of her stomach go unsuccessful.
She takes a deep breath. It's humid and sweaty. Ugh.
"Least you could've done is /asked/ him beforehand. I'm going to be late for my shift." Priorities.
Well, then. Mister Syndicate lets out a little sigh, then slides an arm beneath her shoulder and one beneath her knees - looks like she's been upgraded to that first class, V.I.P. bridal carry instead of the ol' fireman lift. "Don't throw up," he warns Neha, then leans forward to... shut the doors with his head? Classy. He clearly doesn't have supernatural strength, at least. "Consider the sass a privilege you get for being a good doctor and not struggling, alright? You play along, we can banter. Make trouble, and that goes away. So do a lot of other niceties. You're not being auctioned, this time. We're just milking the Hindus for money at this point." He chuckles lowly, under his breath. "Believe me - it's better to get targeted for your race than for being a woman. But that kind of thing doesn't really happen in Haven. Too hard to organise, I think." He slows his roll and shuffles around, lifting a shutter door with the tip of his shoe, and then /finally/ Neha's free of the bag around her head, and she can suck in some clean air that doesn't smell like her own unbrushed teeth.
The room's basically a cell. There's a simple plastic chair for her to sit in, a blanket for warmth (sans mattress, of course), and some cheap fluorescent lighting strips along the ceiling.
"Home sweet home," says Mister Syndicate. He's dressed fairly well, in a fitted black suit, but a ski mask ruins the otherwise respectable appearance and keeps his features obscured. "I'll get you a bucket if you need to piss. You might be with us a couple days, so if you've got any food allergies, say so now or you might need to skip some of our home cooking."
Look, Neha knows her physical capabilities real well, and she's not quite built for fighting /or/ for making a run for anything. Sure, maybe getting kidnapped /this/ often isn't something she'd expected as a regular occurrence, but worse things could have happened, for sure. She wasn't looking forward to throwing up first thing in the morning, so the breath of fresh air is welcomed gratefully.
And then, immediately after, Neha makes a face at the piss bucket suggestion, obviously not feeling up for it. "That's highly unsanitary," she points out. "At least give me bathroom access. What happens if I need to go number two?"
A moment of consideration follows, Neha's eyes flickering across the oh so comfortably little dwelling she's been afforded. "He won't be interested. I told him I don't want to deal with the House of Vishnu, last time. So I wouldn't get my hopes up, if I were you." Of course, for all she knows, the man may have a soft spot for a fellow countryman and decide to free her anyway, which would only mean the Syndicate would /continue/ to harass her for free cash every other day, but... hopefully he's smart enough to not.
Belatedly, she answers the last question with, "I'm vegetarian. Can you free my hands? It's hurting." A girl can hope.
The Syndicate henchman's brows lift a little beneath his mask and he nods his head. "I'm vegetarian, too," he comments. "Alright. Turn around and face the wall. I'll get your hands free. Nothing I can do about the bathroom. This building doesn't have plumbing." He doesn't go into more detail than that. "And you'd be better off cozying up with them if they're inclined to help you out. You're going to be here a lot longer, otherwise." He shrugs a little - his empathy only goes so far, and apparently turning down people who save you from him in the first place is beyond that line.
Neha's legs are also tied. She gives Syndicate Man a sassy look - maybe pushing her luck, considering her circumstances - but attempts a little bit of shuffling around regardless. Very slug-like. It's a good thing she'd fallen asleep with her glasses on, as tired as she had been, otherwise she'd be even more unlucky this morning. "I think you should invest in a better place if you're going to be having guests this often," she tells the man, wiggling her fingers in the air in anticipation of freedom, words all syrup-sweet when she asks, "Does kidnapping people not pay well?"
"It's not working for the Institute, that's for sure," grunts the henchman. Snicker-snack, goes the vorpal pocketknife, making do with the zipties like Jabberwocky and oh-so-frumious Bandersnatch. Neha's hands and feet are unbound most adroitly before Mister Syndicate stands back, knife in hand. "Get comfortable," he says. "I'll be in the hall, making some calls." He saunters out, then, lowering the shutter door behind him. It latches... but the mechanism's visible from the inside of the storage room. Sabotageable, even... But the kidnapper's not far away, either. At least the room's lit, this time.
Okay, that one did hurt, considering how broke Neha is at the moment. Still, she's easily distracted and relieved when her hands are finally freed, and she moves on to rubbing her wrists gently to ease the pain from the reddened imprints that the zipties digging into her skin had left behind, nodding her head slowly in response to the Syndicate man's words. Sure. She'll get comfortable with the one uncomfortable chair and the one uncomfortable blanket and the fucking piss-bucket. "Have fun," she says dryly, going to flop herself upon the chair while she keeps an eye on the mechanism of the door, as though trying to gauge whether it's worth it.
... nah, she's fine. She'll just... stay here, play along, and go home when nobody comes for her. They can't keep her /that/ long, considering Sanctuary and all. Sounds like a solid plan, right?
Right??
Well, the tolling of the bell clearly informs Neha that she is merely an hour into this latest kidnapping, so she's probably going to have plenty of time to consider her options. Whatever Syndicate Man is saying over the phone isn't audible to her, though. It's barely detectable, let alone anything she can make out.
Hours, days, months later - in actuality about fifteen minutes, but it's quite boring in there - the nape of Neha's neck prickles. She's being watched - it's a distinct feeling, and maybe a little paranoia-inducing. Still, she can feel eyes on her, and even if she tries to convince herself otherwise, the feeling does not go away. It seems almost to pulse in the back of her mind - always there, but flaring up every few minutes so she can never quite put it out of thought. All eyes on Neha.
Finally, and most importantly, her cell does not have a piss bucket. Nor would such a bucket be only for pissing in. As it is, though, her cell came without a bucket. Mister Syndicate would have to get her one if she needs it.
One sheep, two sheep, three hundred and thirty two sheep, one thousand and one sheep, one thousand and two sheep, two thousand four hundred and seventy nine sheep...
The hair at the back of Neha's neck rises up on end, and a shiver runs down her spine. There's a glance over her shoulder, and then back at the door, trying not to look too suspicious. It's about a full minute of trying to ignore the feeling that she abruptly stands and makes her way over to the door, banging on it just hard enough that Syndicate Man would be able to hear her. "Hey," she calls out. "I need to pee." Get her the piss bucket.
"One second," Mister Syndicate says into the phone, before he raises his voice to be clearly audible. "Hey," he calls. "Shut up. I'm on the phone. You shoulda taken the bucket when I offered it. You'll have to wait. Now be quiet." Step, step - and he's out of earshot to resume his conversation. That could mean he's out of earshot of her, too, if she wants to play with the door mechanism... but another option presents itself a moment later.
"You're in a right pickle now, yaar," whispers a warm, masculine, Tamil accent. It's sourceless, but it nonetheless warms her cheek and the back of her neck, as if whispered from close behind her. "Don't scream. This is magic. I'm trying to find you. I don't get to play Prince Charming nearly bloody enough. I'll rescue you, Doctor Pandit. Neha."
Ah, goddammit. Neha stiffens all the way when she hears that voice close to her ear, inhaling in a reflexive response, ready to let it out in a startled scream - right up until the 'don't scream'. A tiny yelp escapes her instead, close to a squeak, hopefully going unheard by the man outside. Neha doesn't curse, but only because she was raised better than that.
The lack of the piss bucket isn't mourned; she didn't need to pee anyway.
Neha lifts her hand to run her fingers through her hair, exhaling out a sharp breath and moving away from the door, back into her chair, so she can bury her head in her hands. "I don't know where he took me," she sighs out, only because she /does/ want to get free and go to work without anyone kicking up a fuss. "Somewhere close to the sea. Probably anonymous; there's no plumbing." The more she thinks about it, the more she might just need to go to the bathroom, actually, especially now that she /can't/ with the man watching her with magic. God fucking dammit.
"They have a lot of small stash houses around the cliffs," Taj murmurs back. "And I can feel the direction to you, so I'll find you eventually, don't worry. You are not injured?" There's something like a comforting shoulder squeeze - clearly, the guy can transmit sensations through his magic. "Don't try to escape on your own. It's safer with us. The House of Vishnu has the finest warriors in the world for this sort of thing, don't worry."
A bold claim. He seems confident in it, but that could just be the divine propaganda speaking through him.
The result of the comforting shoulder squeeze is just Neha stiffening even further, though there's no squirming away from what isn't actually tangible. Her lips pull down into a frown, and there's an attempt made to sink into her chair as though she can become one with the uncomfortable plastic. "I'm fine," comes the reply immediately, maybe a teeeeeny tiny bit louder than what may be strictly necessary. Hopefully Syndicate Man didn't hear that. "I wasn't going to try and escape," she claims, "He'll let me go in a day or two, or magic will." Sanctuary and all, but Taj knows that too.
There's an amused sort of warmth that washes over Neha, then Taj's voice asks, "That doesn't solve the problem though, does it?" He pauses, as if to let her answer, then steamrolls on regardless. "This is the second time they have taken you in under a bloody week. If you escape, they will just take you again. It is better to make a statement. Make it unprofitable for them, yes?" There's another pause, longer this time, then, "I've found you. Okay. Be ready to run to my horse if we get separated."
CRASH!!!
That wasn't magic - she heard that with her ears. Voices are raised - there's more than one Syndicateer in here, apparently - before the sounds of violence slip through the door. It's over in seconds. The shutter begins to shake in place, straining, then buckling where its mechanisms try to hold it in position. The tortured metal screams, then crumples, then tears free as if by telekinesis, and there is Taj in all his Bollywood-handsome glory, who flicks his hand down the hall. The roller door follows the motion, skittering along the hallway to take a goon's legs out from underneath him. The report of gunfire sounds out from the other end of the hall, and Taj flicks his hand in the opposite direction, curving the bullet to fly narrowly between him and Neha. His hair ruffles perfectly in the wake of the bullet's path: this is an action hero. He hoists a bow in his free hand, thundering, "I am the son of Arjuna! You will regret your bloody actions!"
"Your /horse/?" Neha hiss-whispers, voice incredulous. What the fuck kind of person just rides in on a goddamn horse?! "Like a Mustang, or..." Surely he's not riding a real life horse through the streets of Haven, right? Right??
God fucking dammit.
Neha flinches at the sounds of gunshot, scurrying off her chair to hide somewhere in a corner where she won't be in the direct path of gunfire if a bullet manages to make its way through the door - nope, never mind, it's just being pulled open and off its hinges and then being yeeted right down and across the hallway. Goodbye, door. Hello, infuriatingly good-looking man. Neha's heart doesn't skip a beat at all. Nope. If her knees are a little weak its from the shock of everything that's going on here and that was a BULLET and Neha is very, very human.
She stares at Taj with wide, wide eyes for a few moments before stumbling over like a wobbly-legged deer to hide behind the man, deeming it the safest place to be where she won't end up with an accidental bullet through her brain.
Taj is the guy getting shot at, so hiding behind him must follow some advanced mental calculus that only a doctor like Neha could understand, using one hundred percent of her brain or something like that. He stares down at her incredulously for a moment before loosing a couple of choice Tamil cusses. He lifts his bow, pulls it to full draw - which causes its staves to creak like some ancient tree on the verge of blowing over - then looses an arrow that howls as it shreds through the air in its path, eventually striking a wall with such force that said wall fucking explodes outwards, raining bricks down the cliffside. Forget action hero; he's on that House of Vishnu physics budget. "New plan," he barks, then lets out a shrill whistle. It's answered by an echoing neigh, and then the furious clip-clop of a horse ascending the cliffs like a fucking mountain goat before it finally climbs into view.
"Behind you!!" it seems to say, though it really only neighs, and Taj flips around just in time to reach out and jam the next assailant's rifle right before it fires - which causes it to explode when that dumbass pulls the trigger, not realising exactly what had happened. There are shrieks of pain and enough blood that Neha's doctorly skills can provide a prognosis of amputation down the line, but before she can say anything, she's lifted over the Arjuna-aspirant's hunky shoulders and dashed down the hall - then sat quite gently on the horse's backside. Taj mounts his steed with impeccable grace, yelling, "Hold on tight!" before he kicks his heels into the loyal steed's flanks. Poor Neha, made to wrap her arms around that detestably rugged chest or impossibly defined abs that she can count through both her sleeves and his shirt. By /god/ are they nice. The horse goes off like a shot, rushing away from the coastline and back towards the sounds and smells of the township proper.
Neha is trained for /medical/ emergencies, not wartime ones, thank you very much. Maybe if she was a combat medic she'd know not to hide behind the guy getting shot at, but for now, the guy getting shot at is surely big enough that in his shadow seems like a good place to be. And to be fair, he said to run for the horse if they get separated, and Taj is right here so Neha is obviously meant to also be right here.
Well, right up until he explodes the whole fucking wall and that guy explodes his own fucking self while Neha watches with wide eyes as she's swung over the Tamil man's shoulders and eventually deposited on the horse's backside. Her arms go around his abs out of reflex - she's not used to horseback at all, and the first gallop threatens to send her rolling off the horse entirely if she doesn't hold on as tight as she can, yelping aloud. "Hey, stop!" she tells Taj above all the noise of wind and the waves of the sea and the horse cloppity-clopping. "That man needs medical attention!" Ethics and all that.
"Not our problem," Taj replies, who slows his horse to a slower amble less likely to knock Neha into the air. "They won't chase us when we're back in town. The Syndicate doesn't do revenge. They're purely there for money. Now they know that going after you will cost them money, you should be much safer, Doctor." He releases the reins in one hand to reach back and pat her thigh consolingly. "If they come to the Institute for treatment, you are free to do as you like. And don't worry - we hypnotised payroll to give you a paid day off. No PTO hours lost."
One would fucking hope that getting kidnapped is a good enough reason to get a paid day off, yes. Neha's shoulders ease just a tad bit though she keeps her arms around the man's torso just to keep herself from falling off the ambling horseback, just because she's not meant for horseback riding. Neha takes a self-indulgent moment to wonder what kind of cologne the man uses - why does he smell so good, damn - before she snaps back to herself and lifts her head up from where her nose had buried itself between his shoulder blades. Her eyes linger upon the hand on her thigh for a long few seconds.
"Thanks," she tells Taj, sincerely even if it's a little grumpily at needing rescuing in the first place. "... I appreciate this. You can, uh... Elm street apartments, will be fine. Or just... leave me somewhere I can catch the trolley from."
Nodding his head slowly, Taj says, "We'll take the long way around. I'm armed, and the apartment block is near the woods, so this is the best way. Besides; my horse can use the exercise."
They keep out of the mist, of course, even while they ride through the woods. Neha's enjoyment of his cologne can last a little longer, too. Taj allows for a little silence for a while, to help Neha calm down after all of that, but he does eventually pipe up again.
"I can't help but notice you aren't married, Doctor," he murmurs. He keeps his voice low - discreet or intimate, or both. "I don't suppose you're looking for someone out here in Haven? I mean, not to take advantage of the rescue, and all. I simply keep my eyes open."
Neha doesn't point out that the horse likely got more than enough exercise cloppity clopping all around the cliffside and whatnot; surely Taj knows his horse better than she does, so she only bobs her head in a nod, letting the cool air of the early morning soothe her poor, frazzled nerves as she tucks her head back against the demigod's upper back once more. With all the excitement over and the adrenaline rush ebbing away after her night of poor sleep and poorer trip trussed up in a van, the tiredness is hitting her like a truck, and Neha's almost dozing off upon horseback. She startles back to wakefulness when Taj speaks again, blinking at the trees surrounding them, because she can't well blink at the man looking away from her so it's basically the same thing. "I am not looking for love or marriage," she tells him, regardless of whether that's the truth or a convenient, believable excuse. "My work keeps me too busy for either."
Even if she can't see it, Neha can /sense/ the little smile on Taj's lips as he hums a little acknowledgement of her words. After a moment, he asks, "Sounds like the start of one of those shows, doesn't it? Where the young woman is throwing her whole life into her work, and the handsome stranger becomes a part of it, and slowly teaches her to relax a little and enjoy what life has to offer?" He turns his head a little, not quite twisting around to look at her, but at least making a show of turning his attention to her. "I know your work is important. You are a doctor. But you should leave some room for good things, jaanu. Maybe your mind will have changed next time I come to the rescue?"
Neha is too tired to figure out an appropriate response for that one. Or maybe she's just debating it really hard, back and forth in her mind. Or maybe it's that goddamn cologne messing with her mind, or the fact that she's pressed up against the man's back with her fingers splayed across his chest and she can feel his toned muscles under her hands, making it way too easy to imagine having--
Neha lets that train of thought come to an immediate halt, mental screeching and horrible grinding of metal and all, and straightens up a little. It's a good thing the color of her skin doesn't show off a blush easily. "Yeah, sure, um-" she starts, not looking back at Taj when he turns his head a little her way. The trees look nice. "I don't really plan on getting kidnapped again, if I can help it. I- you can come over for tea sometime," she concedes. That's the most he's getting.
Taj is a man of many physical virtues, and by god his back is one of them. It's carved out of living, warm marble, and it wants Neha to sign her name on it with the peaks of her... train wreck related thoughts. Straightening up doesn't help a lot, alas.
"I'd love that," he replies, letting out a pleased hum. "I will bring biscuits, then. Here, branch hanging down, mind your head..."
The rest of the ride goes quite smoothly, and even the horse seems to have an extra spring in its step for having Neha's assent to come visit. They turn onto Elm's Bane, and then Taj slides off his horse, packing his bow and arrows into the horse's saddlebags before reaching up to offer a hand to the doctor to help her down. And, of course, the horse startles a little bit as she dismounts, causing her to stumble slightly into his chest as he wraps a protective arm around her, just for that one acceptable moment, before she steadies herself and he lets her go.
"Go on, then," he tells the horse, as if scolding it for daring to trip Neha up. His grin definitely belies that, though - he's quite pleased with his steed. He gives him a light smack on the butt, and the horse trots off north, back into the woods. "Would you like me to walk you to the apartments, jaanu? I won't push if you are not ready to be seen with me."
As her imprisonment stretches on, Neha is forced to confront the unpleasant reality of her situation, including the lack of basic amenities and the uncertainty of her release. Her musings are interrupted by Taj, communicating through magic, who promises a daring rescue. True to his word, Taj, embodying the very essence of an action hero from a thrilling cinematic adventure, breaches the kidnappers' hideout. With a display of martial prowess and magical ability, he swiftly overcomes the Syndicate members, rescuing Neha with a flair that seems to belong more to mythology than the modern streets of Haven. Neha finds herself whisked away on horseback, struggling with the unfamiliarity of the situation but gradually warming to Taj's heroics and protective demeanor. Despite her initial reluctance, the shared adrenaline and Taj's assurance of her safety under the watch of the House of Vishu might be planting seeds for future entanglements beyond professional appreciation or mere gratitude for her rescue.
(Neha's odd encounter(SRRogier):SRRogier)
[Tue Nov 5 2024]
In a regal, Edwardian bedroom
Brimming with historical charm and elegance, this expansive bedroom has high ceilings and large, sash windows that allow the natural light to pour in to the spacious bedroom. The interior lighting is soft and warm, emanating from strategically placed lamps with fringed and beaded shades as well as a central chandelier of brass and crystal that serves as an absolutely stunning focal point. Embellished with Damask-patterned wallpaper in shades of burgundy and gold across the walls' upper halves, it is beautifully complemented by the richness of dark wood wainscoting below. Matching hardwood flooring is highly polished, enhancing the herringbone pattern and its natural grain, and a few antique, Persian rugs with intricate designs tie in with the room's colour scheme.
It is night, about 49F(9C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds. It's raining outside. There is a waxing crescent moon.
(Your target is abducted in their sleep, waking up alone in a locked room. They need to either escape or draw attention to them so their allies can come and provide assistance.
)
Whether it's late or early is one of those things that can be debated over without ever changing a thing, but it's nearing three in the morning, which means it's time for Neha to get ready for work. You could call that night shift or early morning shift; doesn't matter. More pertinently, Neha's alarm isn't going off, and getting ready for work isn't happening. In fact, she's not even dreaming - Neha's properly unconscious, sedated by chemical means in her sleep. Standard Haven practice, really, but no one's spiriting off to Narnia with her phone or any of the usual fun stuff.
She awakens with her face banging into the side of some thin metal wall. She's been blackbagged again, her hands are ziplocked behind her back, and her ankles are tied together again as well. She's in a van, actually - the vibrations of the vehicle can be felt where she's lying on her side. Hell, the bag over her head /smells/ familiar. Is this the same damn kidnapper? It hasn't even been a week! Maybe he missed her.
A speaker behind the drivers' rear-view window crackles as it transmits a message: "You might as well go back to sleep, Doctor Pandit," it says. /He/ says. It's the same guy after all. "While the drugs are still kicking around in your system. You're going to have trouble going to sleep once you're there."
It's no wonder the driver had known she was awake: Neha had let out an annoyed, I'm-so-fucking-done-with-this-shit sort of groan immediately as soon as she'd come back to consciousness and found herself not in her bed. Maybe her supervisor would understand her not being present for her shift on time again. Instead of 'my dog ate my homework', it's 'I got kidnapped by the Syndicate again', here in Haven. She squirms around like a slug until her face isn't banging into the wall with every little bump of the van in futile hopes of getting slightly more comfortable - good luck with that one - and blinks blearily into the darkness. Nothing to see here.
Her hands strain behind her back. Nope, nothing to do there either. Neha just lets out a sigh and closes her eyes again. Maybe /this/ is the dream and she just needs to wake up from it. She can try.
Her head throbs under the coarse grain of the black bag. The zipties aren't cutting off her circulation, at least, but she can feel every heartbeat through the way her pulse hammers against the plastic restraints, as if they might weather away like a stony cliff before the tide. Even more discomfort seeps in with the bumpiness of laying flat against the bottom of the van, where she can just about feel the grains in the road below. And the /potholes/. Road maintenance might hold more weight as an electoral promise for the good doctor, going forward.
The van's not so cliche as to offer a 'muffled roar' as it winds its way through the town, at least. It's a van for criminal activities; the Syndicate probably put effort into keeping their vehicles quiet and discreet. Still, that's not to say the trip is at all silent - if Neha focuses a little, she might make out the crashing of the bay. The water's hitting something, so she's probably near the cliffs, not the beach. The salt on the air insists there's some proximity at the least.
(fix) Her head throbs under the coarse grain of the black bag. The zipties aren't cutting off her circulation, at least, but she can feel every heartbeat through the way her pulse hammers against the plastic restraints, as if they might weather away like a stony cliff before the tide. Even more discomfort seeps in with the bumpiness of laying flat against the bottom of the van, where she can just about feel the grains in the road below. And the /potholes/. Road maintenance might hold more weight as an electoral promise for the good doctor, going forward.
The van's not so cliche as to offer a 'muffled roar' as it winds its way through the town, at least. It's a van for criminal activities; the Syndicate probably put effort into keeping their vehicles quiet and discreet. Still, that's not to say the trip is at all silent - if Neha focuses a little, she might make out the crashing of the bay. The water's hitting something, so she's probably near the cliffs, not the beach. The salt on the air insists there's some proximity at the least.
And right as her mind wanders far enough, right as the last of that chemical lethargy and the darkness begin to drag her over, the van rolls over a speed bump quickly enough that Neha's head bounces up and smacks back down onto the metal floor beneath her.
the speaker crackles. That's all, though.
The drive stays like that, alas, and true to Mister Syndicate's words, the ability to doze off evaporates with the last of the drugs. Now her body rejected sleep. Lo, the drawbacks of using sedatives - once you're on them, you need them!
Finally, the van comes to a stop, and the the driver hops out of the van before popping the back open, looking down at her. "Alright," he says. "I'm going to pick you up. Don't kick. I'll take the bag off when you're back in yoru room. We'll see if Mister Taj feels like spending some more money on you, hm?"
Her head throbs under the coarse grain of the black bag. The zipties aren't cutting off her circulation, at least, but she can feel every heartbeat through the way her pulse hammers against the plastic restraints, as if they might weather away like a stony cliff before the tide. Even more discomfort seeps in with the bumpiness of laying flat against the bottom of the van, where she can just about feel the grains in the road below. And the /potholes/. Road maintenance might hold more weight as an electoral promise for the good doctor, going forward.
The van's not so cliche as to offer a 'muffled roar' as it winds its way through the town, at least. It's a van for criminal activities; the Syndicate probably put effort into keeping their vehicles quiet and discreet. Still, that's not to say the trip is at all silent - if Neha focuses a little, she might make out the crashing of the bay. The water's hitting something, so she's probably near the cliffs, not the beach. The salt on the air insists there's some proximity at the least.
And right as her mind wanders far enough, right as the last of that chemical lethargy and the darkness begin to drag her over, the van rolls over a speed bump quickly enough that Neha's head bounces up and smacks back down onto the metal floor beneath her.
"Sorry," the speaker crackles. That's all, though.
The drive stays like that, alas, and true to Mister Syndicate's words, the ability to doze off evaporates with the last of the drugs. Now her body rejected sleep. Lo, the drawbacks of using sedatives - once you're on them, you need them!
Finally, the van comes to a stop, and the the driver hops out of the van before popping the back open, looking down at her. "Alright," he says. "I'm going to pick you up. Don't kick. I'll take the bag off when you're back in yoru room. We'll see if Mister Taj feels like spending some more money on you, hm?" (fix again)
If this was a dream, Neha would've woken up ages ago. As it is, she's having an absolutely terrible time wide awake, more than a little disoriented, and with a familiar nausea trying to creep its way up her throat from all the bouncing and head-hitting and potholing she's gone through. "Hey," she calls out for fair warning, voice a little scratchy. "I get carsick. I'm going to throw up." He can't say she didn't warn her when she pukes all over him - though that would be entirely too sub-optimal considering she'd also be puking all over /herself/, with the bag and all.
The van comes to a stop, and Neha feels the cool air against her skin immediately when the back is popped open, even if the inside of the bag remains stifling and claustrophobia-inducing, the woman holding herself very still. She doesn't look like she's got any plans to begin kicking, considering her legs being tied as well, and her attempts to cease the churning of her stomach go unsuccessful.
She takes a deep breath. It's humid and sweaty. Ugh.
"Least you could've done is /asked/ him beforehand. I'm going to be late for my shift." Priorities.
Well, then. Mister Syndicate lets out a little sigh, then slides an arm beneath her shoulder and one beneath her knees - looks like she's been upgraded to that first class, V.I.P. bridal carry instead of the ol' fireman lift. "Don't throw up," he warns Neha, then leans forward to... shut the doors with his head? Classy. He clearly doesn't have supernatural strength, at least. "Consider the sass a privilege you get for being a good doctor and not struggling, alright? You play along, we can banter. Make trouble, and that goes away. So do a lot of other niceties. You're not being auctioned, this time. We're just milking the Hindus for money at this point." He chuckles lowly, under his breath. "Believe me - it's better to get targeted for your race than for being a woman. But that kind of thing doesn't really happen in Haven. Too hard to organise, I think." He slows his roll and shuffles around, lifting a shutter door with the tip of his shoe, and then /finally/ Neha's free of the bag around her head, and she can suck in some clean air that doesn't smell like her own unbrushed teeth.
The room's basically a cell. There's a simple plastic chair for her to sit in, a blanket for warmth (sans mattress, of course), and some cheap fluorescent lighting strips along the ceiling.
"Home sweet home," says Mister Syndicate. He's dressed fairly well, in a fitted black suit, but a ski mask ruins the otherwise respectable appearance and keeps his features obscured. "I'll get you a bucket if you need to piss. You might be with us a couple days, so if you've got any food allergies, say so now or you might need to skip some of our home cooking."
Look, Neha knows her physical capabilities real well, and she's not quite built for fighting /or/ for making a run for anything. Sure, maybe getting kidnapped /this/ often isn't something she'd expected as a regular occurrence, but worse things could have happened, for sure. She wasn't looking forward to throwing up first thing in the morning, so the breath of fresh air is welcomed gratefully.
And then, immediately after, Neha makes a face at the piss bucket suggestion, obviously not feeling up for it. "That's highly unsanitary," she points out. "At least give me bathroom access. What happens if I need to go number two?"
A moment of consideration follows, Neha's eyes flickering across the oh so comfortably little dwelling she's been afforded. "He won't be interested. I told him I don't want to deal with the House of Vishnu, last time. So I wouldn't get my hopes up, if I were you." Of course, for all she knows, the man may have a soft spot for a fellow countryman and decide to free her anyway, which would only mean the Syndicate would /continue/ to harass her for free cash every other day, but... hopefully he's smart enough to not.
Belatedly, she answers the last question with, "I'm vegetarian. Can you free my hands? It's hurting." A girl can hope.
The Syndicate henchman's brows lift a little beneath his mask and he nods his head. "I'm vegetarian, too," he comments. "Alright. Turn around and face the wall. I'll get your hands free. Nothing I can do about the bathroom. This building doesn't have plumbing." He doesn't go into more detail than that. "And you'd be better off cozying up with them if they're inclined to help you out. You're going to be here a lot longer, otherwise." He shrugs a little - his empathy only goes so far, and apparently turning down people who save you from him in the first place is beyond that line.
Neha's legs are also tied. She gives Syndicate Man a sassy look - maybe pushing her luck, considering her circumstances - but attempts a little bit of shuffling around regardless. Very slug-like. It's a good thing she'd fallen asleep with her glasses on, as tired as she had been, otherwise she'd be even more unlucky this morning. "I think you should invest in a better place if you're going to be having guests this often," she tells the man, wiggling her fingers in the air in anticipation of freedom, words all syrup-sweet when she asks, "Does kidnapping people not pay well?"
"It's not working for the Institute, that's for sure," grunts the henchman. Snicker-snack, goes the vorpal pocketknife, making do with the zipties like Jabberwocky and oh-so-frumious Bandersnatch. Neha's hands and feet are unbound most adroitly before Mister Syndicate stands back, knife in hand. "Get comfortable," he says. "I'll be in the hall, making some calls." He saunters out, then, lowering the shutter door behind him. It latches... but the mechanism's visible from the inside of the storage room. Sabotageable, even... But the kidnapper's not far away, either. At least the room's lit, this time.
Okay, that one did hurt, considering how broke Neha is at the moment. Still, she's easily distracted and relieved when her hands are finally freed, and she moves on to rubbing her wrists gently to ease the pain from the reddened imprints that the zipties digging into her skin had left behind, nodding her head slowly in response to the Syndicate man's words. Sure. She'll get comfortable with the one uncomfortable chair and the one uncomfortable blanket and the fucking piss-bucket. "Have fun," she says dryly, going to flop herself upon the chair while she keeps an eye on the mechanism of the door, as though trying to gauge whether it's worth it.
... nah, she's fine. She'll just... stay here, play along, and go home when nobody comes for her. They can't keep her /that/ long, considering Sanctuary and all. Sounds like a solid plan, right?
Right??
Well, the tolling of the bell clearly informs Neha that she is merely an hour into this latest kidnapping, so she's probably going to have plenty of time to consider her options. Whatever Syndicate Man is saying over the phone isn't audible to her, though. It's barely detectable, let alone anything she can make out.
Hours, days, months later - in actuality about fifteen minutes, but it's quite boring in there - the nape of Neha's neck prickles. She's being watched - it's a distinct feeling, and maybe a little paranoia-inducing. Still, she can feel eyes on her, and even if she tries to convince herself otherwise, the feeling does not go away. It seems almost to pulse in the back of her mind - always there, but flaring up every few minutes so she can never quite put it out of thought. All eyes on Neha.
Finally, and most importantly, her cell does not have a piss bucket. Nor would such a bucket be only for pissing in. As it is, though, her cell came without a bucket. Mister Syndicate would have to get her one if she needs it.
One sheep, two sheep, three hundred and thirty two sheep, one thousand and one sheep, one thousand and two sheep, two thousand four hundred and seventy nine sheep...
The hair at the back of Neha's neck rises up on end, and a shiver runs down her spine. There's a glance over her shoulder, and then back at the door, trying not to look too suspicious. It's about a full minute of trying to ignore the feeling that she abruptly stands and makes her way over to the door, banging on it just hard enough that Syndicate Man would be able to hear her. "Hey," she calls out. "I need to pee." Get her the piss bucket.
"One second," Mister Syndicate says into the phone, before he raises his voice to be clearly audible. "Hey," he calls. "Shut up. I'm on the phone. You shoulda taken the bucket when I offered it. You'll have to wait. Now be quiet." Step, step - and he's out of earshot to resume his conversation. That could mean he's out of earshot of her, too, if she wants to play with the door mechanism... but another option presents itself a moment later.
"You're in a right pickle now, yaar," whispers a warm, masculine, Tamil accent. It's sourceless, but it nonetheless warms her cheek and the back of her neck, as if whispered from close behind her. "Don't scream. This is magic. I'm trying to find you. I don't get to play Prince Charming nearly bloody enough. I'll rescue you, Doctor Pandit. Neha."
Ah, goddammit. Neha stiffens all the way when she hears that voice close to her ear, inhaling in a reflexive response, ready to let it out in a startled scream - right up until the 'don't scream'. A tiny yelp escapes her instead, close to a squeak, hopefully going unheard by the man outside. Neha doesn't curse, but only because she was raised better than that.
The lack of the piss bucket isn't mourned; she didn't need to pee anyway.
Neha lifts her hand to run her fingers through her hair, exhaling out a sharp breath and moving away from the door, back into her chair, so she can bury her head in her hands. "I don't know where he took me," she sighs out, only because she /does/ want to get free and go to work without anyone kicking up a fuss. "Somewhere close to the sea. Probably anonymous; there's no plumbing." The more she thinks about it, the more she might just need to go to the bathroom, actually, especially now that she /can't/ with the man watching her with magic. God fucking dammit.
"They have a lot of small stash houses around the cliffs," Taj murmurs back. "And I can feel the direction to you, so I'll find you eventually, don't worry. You are not injured?" There's something like a comforting shoulder squeeze - clearly, the guy can transmit sensations through his magic. "Don't try to escape on your own. It's safer with us. The House of Vishnu has the finest warriors in the world for this sort of thing, don't worry."
A bold claim. He seems confident in it, but that could just be the divine propaganda speaking through him.
The result of the comforting shoulder squeeze is just Neha stiffening even further, though there's no squirming away from what isn't actually tangible. Her lips pull down into a frown, and there's an attempt made to sink into her chair as though she can become one with the uncomfortable plastic. "I'm fine," comes the reply immediately, maybe a teeeeeny tiny bit louder than what may be strictly necessary. Hopefully Syndicate Man didn't hear that. "I wasn't going to try and escape," she claims, "He'll let me go in a day or two, or magic will." Sanctuary and all, but Taj knows that too.
There's an amused sort of warmth that washes over Neha, then Taj's voice asks, "That doesn't solve the problem though, does it?" He pauses, as if to let her answer, then steamrolls on regardless. "This is the second time they have taken you in under a bloody week. If you escape, they will just take you again. It is better to make a statement. Make it unprofitable for them, yes?" There's another pause, longer this time, then, "I've found you. Okay. Be ready to run to my horse if we get separated."
CRASH!!!
That wasn't magic - she heard that with her ears. Voices are raised - there's more than one Syndicateer in here, apparently - before the sounds of violence slip through the door. It's over in seconds. The shutter begins to shake in place, straining, then buckling where its mechanisms try to hold it in position. The tortured metal screams, then crumples, then tears free as if by telekinesis, and there is Taj in all his Bollywood-handsome glory, who flicks his hand down the hall. The roller door follows the motion, skittering along the hallway to take a goon's legs out from underneath him. The report of gunfire sounds out from the other end of the hall, and Taj flicks his hand in the opposite direction, curving the bullet to fly narrowly between him and Neha. His hair ruffles perfectly in the wake of the bullet's path: this is an action hero. He hoists a bow in his free hand, thundering, "I am the son of Arjuna! You will regret your bloody actions!"
"Your /horse/?" Neha hiss-whispers, voice incredulous. What the fuck kind of person just rides in on a goddamn horse?! "Like a Mustang, or..." Surely he's not riding a real life horse through the streets of Haven, right? Right??
God fucking dammit.
Neha flinches at the sounds of gunshot, scurrying off her chair to hide somewhere in a corner where she won't be in the direct path of gunfire if a bullet manages to make its way through the door - nope, never mind, it's just being pulled open and off its hinges and then being yeeted right down and across the hallway. Goodbye, door. Hello, infuriatingly good-looking man. Neha's heart doesn't skip a beat at all. Nope. If her knees are a little weak its from the shock of everything that's going on here and that was a BULLET and Neha is very, very human.
She stares at Taj with wide, wide eyes for a few moments before stumbling over like a wobbly-legged deer to hide behind the man, deeming it the safest place to be where she won't end up with an accidental bullet through her brain.
Taj is the guy getting shot at, so hiding behind him must follow some advanced mental calculus that only a doctor like Neha could understand, using one hundred percent of her brain or something like that. He stares down at her incredulously for a moment before loosing a couple of choice Tamil cusses. He lifts his bow, pulls it to full draw - which causes its staves to creak like some ancient tree on the verge of blowing over - then looses an arrow that howls as it shreds through the air in its path, eventually striking a wall with such force that said wall fucking explodes outwards, raining bricks down the cliffside. Forget action hero; he's on that House of Vishnu physics budget. "New plan," he barks, then lets out a shrill whistle. It's answered by an echoing neigh, and then the furious clip-clop of a horse ascending the cliffs like a fucking mountain goat before it finally climbs into view.
"Behind you!!" it seems to say, though it really only neighs, and Taj flips around just in time to reach out and jam the next assailant's rifle right before it fires - which causes it to explode when that dumbass pulls the trigger, not realising exactly what had happened. There are shrieks of pain and enough blood that Neha's doctorly skills can provide a prognosis of amputation down the line, but before she can say anything, she's lifted over the Arjuna-aspirant's hunky shoulders and dashed down the hall - then sat quite gently on the horse's backside. Taj mounts his steed with impeccable grace, yelling, "Hold on tight!" before he kicks his heels into the loyal steed's flanks. Poor Neha, made to wrap her arms around that detestably rugged chest or impossibly defined abs that she can count through both her sleeves and his shirt. By /god/ are they nice. The horse goes off like a shot, rushing away from the coastline and back towards the sounds and smells of the township proper.
Neha is trained for /medical/ emergencies, not wartime ones, thank you very much. Maybe if she was a combat medic she'd know not to hide behind the guy getting shot at, but for now, the guy getting shot at is surely big enough that in his shadow seems like a good place to be. And to be fair, he said to run for the horse if they get separated, and Taj is right here so Neha is obviously meant to also be right here.
Well, right up until he explodes the whole fucking wall and that guy explodes his own fucking self while Neha watches with wide eyes as she's swung over the Tamil man's shoulders and eventually deposited on the horse's backside. Her arms go around his abs out of reflex - she's not used to horseback at all, and the first gallop threatens to send her rolling off the horse entirely if she doesn't hold on as tight as she can, yelping aloud. "Hey, stop!" she tells Taj above all the noise of wind and the waves of the sea and the horse cloppity-clopping. "That man needs medical attention!" Ethics and all that.
"Not our problem," Taj replies, who slows his horse to a slower amble less likely to knock Neha into the air. "They won't chase us when we're back in town. The Syndicate doesn't do revenge. They're purely there for money. Now they know that going after you will cost them money, you should be much safer, Doctor." He releases the reins in one hand to reach back and pat her thigh consolingly. "If they come to the Institute for treatment, you are free to do as you like. And don't worry - we hypnotised payroll to give you a paid day off. No PTO hours lost."
One would fucking hope that getting kidnapped is a good enough reason to get a paid day off, yes. Neha's shoulders ease just a tad bit though she keeps her arms around the man's torso just to keep herself from falling off the ambling horseback, just because she's not meant for horseback riding. Neha takes a self-indulgent moment to wonder what kind of cologne the man uses - why does he smell so good, damn - before she snaps back to herself and lifts her head up from where her nose had buried itself between his shoulder blades. Her eyes linger upon the hand on her thigh for a long few seconds.
"Thanks," she tells Taj, sincerely even if it's a little grumpily at needing rescuing in the first place. "... I appreciate this. You can, uh... Elm street apartments, will be fine. Or just... leave me somewhere I can catch the trolley from."
Nodding his head slowly, Taj says, "We'll take the long way around. I'm armed, and the apartment block is near the woods, so this is the best way. Besides; my horse can use the exercise."
They keep out of the mist, of course, even while they ride through the woods. Neha's enjoyment of his cologne can last a little longer, too. Taj allows for a little silence for a while, to help Neha calm down after all of that, but he does eventually pipe up again.
"I can't help but notice you aren't married, Doctor," he murmurs. He keeps his voice low - discreet or intimate, or both. "I don't suppose you're looking for someone out here in Haven? I mean, not to take advantage of the rescue, and all. I simply keep my eyes open."
Neha doesn't point out that the horse likely got more than enough exercise cloppity clopping all around the cliffside and whatnot; surely Taj knows his horse better than she does, so she only bobs her head in a nod, letting the cool air of the early morning soothe her poor, frazzled nerves as she tucks her head back against the demigod's upper back once more. With all the excitement over and the adrenaline rush ebbing away after her night of poor sleep and poorer trip trussed up in a van, the tiredness is hitting her like a truck, and Neha's almost dozing off upon horseback. She startles back to wakefulness when Taj speaks again, blinking at the trees surrounding them, because she can't well blink at the man looking away from her so it's basically the same thing. "I am not looking for love or marriage," she tells him, regardless of whether that's the truth or a convenient, believable excuse. "My work keeps me too busy for either."
Even if she can't see it, Neha can /sense/ the little smile on Taj's lips as he hums a little acknowledgement of her words. After a moment, he asks, "Sounds like the start of one of those shows, doesn't it? Where the young woman is throwing her whole life into her work, and the handsome stranger becomes a part of it, and slowly teaches her to relax a little and enjoy what life has to offer?" He turns his head a little, not quite twisting around to look at her, but at least making a show of turning his attention to her. "I know your work is important. You are a doctor. But you should leave some room for good things, jaanu. Maybe your mind will have changed next time I come to the rescue?"
Neha is too tired to figure out an appropriate response for that one. Or maybe she's just debating it really hard, back and forth in her mind. Or maybe it's that goddamn cologne messing with her mind, or the fact that she's pressed up against the man's back with her fingers splayed across his chest and she can feel his toned muscles under her hands, making it way too easy to imagine having--
Neha lets that train of thought come to an immediate halt, mental screeching and horrible grinding of metal and all, and straightens up a little. It's a good thing the color of her skin doesn't show off a blush easily. "Yeah, sure, um-" she starts, not looking back at Taj when he turns his head a little her way. The trees look nice. "I don't really plan on getting kidnapped again, if I can help it. I- you can come over for tea sometime," she concedes. That's the most he's getting.
Taj is a man of many physical virtues, and by god his back is one of them. It's carved out of living, warm marble, and it wants Neha to sign her name on it with the peaks of her... train wreck related thoughts. Straightening up doesn't help a lot, alas.
"I'd love that," he replies, letting out a pleased hum. "I will bring biscuits, then. Here, branch hanging down, mind your head..."
The rest of the ride goes quite smoothly, and even the horse seems to have an extra spring in its step for having Neha's assent to come visit. They turn onto Elm's Bane, and then Taj slides off his horse, packing his bow and arrows into the horse's saddlebags before reaching up to offer a hand to the doctor to help her down. And, of course, the horse startles a little bit as she dismounts, causing her to stumble slightly into his chest as he wraps a protective arm around her, just for that one acceptable moment, before she steadies herself and he lets her go.
"Go on, then," he tells the horse, as if scolding it for daring to trip Neha up. His grin definitely belies that, though - he's quite pleased with his steed. He gives him a light smack on the butt, and the horse trots off north, back into the woods. "Would you like me to walk you to the apartments, jaanu? I won't push if you are not ready to be seen with me."