Locke
Helpless. He felt helpless. Tossing snow to rouse a creature who the only comfort he could bring was ‘that looks like it hurts’. Gods, foolish and helpless, pinch of guilt. He really was starting to see why ‘nice guy’ illusions were never in his closet: they were damned uncomfortable.
A gasp caused the boy to flinch, and retreat as consciousness began pumping through the older horse’s blood, what was left of it anyway. For that which had spilled on the snow, well, there wasn’t much hope there. Locke should say something. His gut twisted his diaphragm up to push the words out, but nothing came except a patient, wary stare, and one swish of the tail. Comforting words, especially those not concealing lies like thorns in roses, were never his area. Honestly, the situation had pulled the bastard quite out of his norm, and he was beginning to miss it. Beginning to see why all the remonstrations of his tutors to ‘be polite’, ‘wait your turn’, ‘don’t steal the prince’s jewels in the middle of class’ feel on deaf ears.
The injured slowly sits up, even laughs… strange. Maybe he was delusional. Would explain the staring, though Locke had to admit to doing his own examinations now that life flowed back through the body making the act seem less taboo. The source of the sharp tang in the air revealed itself as it dripped from the fallen’s nose and a few scrapes, but for the most part the pain’s source (and there was evidently a great deal of pain) seemed to come from within. Given that, even the toughened street urchin side of Locke had to give this stubborn bastard credit. He wouldn’t have been this composed about being cast out to fall from that height to the snow padded hard earth. And when he spoke- well if Locke could hold as much humor so near death as this mauve, it’d be worth hiring a bard to write a legend of it.
“And it isn’t death’s landing either.” Unbidden a smirk rose up on the edges of Locke’s lips, and the darkness in his eyes lessened. There were several ways into Locke’s good graces, (even if you were as much in the red as this cast out had started) and fall out boy had just found one. Frosty animosity felt the glowing embers of wit spark to life in the conversation and began to melt along with the ice in his eyes and voice. “Though given that height I bet your body would protest that.” There was no offer to help, no rushing to the injured side, cautions not to move, or other such pointless nannying. It didn’t even occur to the youth. Maybe he had been refined in a palace, but he was born of the streets, and every so often, such as now, it showed in blinding clarity. Also, he was still slightly bitter for feeling the need to be present at all. Fine, more than slightly bitter.
It was in his own musings that Locke listened to the ramblings of the old man (mind you, everyone was old to the youth). His mind pulling the pieces of the puzzle offered and placing together the story. Or at least the story the other wanted to tell. Inner demonstal- The boy was intelligent, or so he thought himself, but the possibility space travel outside the aid of devines was beyond him. Maybe old Mauve was just grumpy the gods didn’t find him so pretty any more. The humor was cut short with one phrase though- Locke didn’t know who Mauve was… but why would that be good...for who? It was like a ringing of a dinner bell for his ever insatiable curiosity, and when you called that beast for dinner best toss the bucket and run like hell for the fence.
“You’ll find me a poor tour guide I’m afraid.” The youth spoke, letting the smirk finally give way to an amicable smile, still wrapped in the wiriness of youth and first meetings. “I’ve only arrived myself not too long past, but they call this land Novus.” It had been tricky picking even that up, he’d had to adopt goody two shoes scholar vibe while slipping unnoticed through the lands the first few weeks. And Locke has already made quite clear how he feels about those guises. Damn cover wouldn’t even budge for him to lift anything. He’d given it up two weeks earlier than he’d planned so his intelligence gathering really was much shorter than he’d like.
If Silas had rung the dinner bell to Locke’s curiosity, he was now also ringing it to his greed in as well. The poor broken mauve could not guess what tsunami was now pulling back the waves, nor how it might drown him in his own words. So the grin that looked back at Silas turned slightly. Matching his, but soured like old milk. “It so happens I might…” for what price though. It was then the young magpie remembered his mark didn’t actually have anything valuable. He’d tried it before. It wasn’t his first preference, but he supposed a favor would have to do. (Not to mention the ‘you don’t know me’ comment still echoed in the hallows of his ears and curiosity.) “Locke, of Solterra.” A short nod, a blank check filled out. “Terrastella, the Dusk Court has a Hospital, or so I’ve heard, they reside southwest of here.” It was second hand, but true or not poor Silas had already signed his name.
Magician? Ah, that explained a LOT. “No I don’t think so…” Came the absent minded reply, but it was not followed by offers to help. It still never occured to Locke to bother. He’d woken the old mauve, that was life debt enough. Yet the young child didn’t want to let go, not yet. Woken too aggressively and promised a meal his curiosity and avarice licked their lips in the shadows of his souls, kept from his face only by regular practice. “Magician with no magic? Your day seems to have all kinds of fascinating thrills that perhaps strange is as positive as it can be phrased. Yet this all seems common to you. Fall from too high up often?” It was pushing it, so the boy covers it in a warm, light tone, leaping with humor to hide the thorns within. For all the...indeed strangeness, Silas was bringing to his day, the youth was finding his earlier resentment nearly gone for the selfish pleasure the conversation was bringing him. He should wake dead guys more often, maybe he was underestimating them.
OOC:: @Silasthein This is so delightful!
