Arun had to leave Lìadan behind; he hates that, but he couldn't carry her to freedom without first clearing the way. At least the pirates saw the tail and thought it meant she didn't need to be tied up either; her claws made short work of the tape binding his wrists and legs together.
He sneaks down the corridor, light on his feet, almost not breathing. He strains, but can't hear anything. They're out, maybe; but he needs to confirm. He listens, listens so hard he forgets to watch, and then he trips on something, a something that yowls its feline outrage at a volume that belongs on a lion. Oh, shit. He tries to grab it, but it zips off behind a bent in the corridor, and when he takes the turn after it, he rams into someone he didn't even know was there.
She's so petite the impact sends her flying; she bumps against the wall hard and crumples, a few locks of dark hair sliding free from her heavy bun to shadow her eyes. Arun pales. She's a pirate, he shouldn't care, but she looks so tiny. He wants to lean over her and check, but she might kick, he doesn't know. The cat is hissing at him; the noise makes her groan quietly and look up.
She cringes when she sees him looming. Her eyes are a strange, exotic hazel that looks almost golden. Her lower lip trembles. "Please -- please don't..."
"I'm not -- just be quiet and I won't hurt you," he says, trying to think of a place where he could lock her up safely. "Get up," he adds, and manages to make it impatient and stern enough to be convincing. Hopefully.
She climbs on her feet, leaning against the wall, and then she stumbles. He reaches to steady her; her head lolls and she swoons. Tense with nerves, he catches her, steadies her against his side, feels for a telltale bump on her head.
Her moist lips open, just barely, just enough. "Please, don't --" she begs quietly, brushing her lips against his chin in a way that makes him go cold. What happened to her, that she thinks she must -- that she thinks that?
She kisses his lips this time, making a soft, fearful noise as her hands crawl up his chest, nervous; he pats her shoulder awkwardly, trying to be soothing. And then her thumbs are pressed on his jugular, and in a few seconds his eyelids flutters and he slumps.
The oldest trick in the book, really. She didn't think it would actually work.
Oriana snorts, picks up her cat, and goes to find someone to bind the prisoner
again.