Locke
There was strange, and then there was beyond strange. This event was certainly one of the latter. Thrown out of a tower? Well, at least the name castout still seemed applicable. Locke was growing rather fond of it as it fit the otherworldly (little did he comprehend how true that adjective was) old mauve and his strange trappings of humor a physical resilience (or ignorance?).
That last part seemed to be growing questionable. Silas looks skyward, finding direction no doubt, but the youth assess the growing weight on the mauve, and it seemed each drop of blood was a chain dragging him to a grave below he was yet blind to. Through the dim of independence and lack of empathy it finally occurs to the young thief that just because his companion could stand and joke, it might not mean he could tick all the other important boxes for sustaining life. All it gains the drowning man was a tilt of Locke’s head however. Even though Locke noticed, the correct or proper reaction to such as realization was just as foreign as the interdeom-interdemon- that fun trip through the heavens straight to pain.
The hesitation at the unfamiliar feeling of caution was wiped clean when Silas once again called forth Locke’s full attention with ideas of promise, and return investment. “Solterra is a little north, mostly east of here. As for finding me I’m afraid I don’t have an easy answer.” Which likely wasn’t going to change even when the youth did take a more permanent title in the city (unless he finally hit the inevitable end of a jail cell, which he didn’t dare breath into life even in the private halls of his mind). Home addresses were just sign posts for thieves, revenge seekers, and creditors. So you’ll forgive a smart boy for not wanting to keep one. Yet the feeding frenzy going on within his mind and stomach caused him to add: “If you can not find me you can leave a note at the Burning Oasis, third floor.” A whore house in the lower quarter that he used as a lookout was about as close to permanent as he would likely ever get. It did occur to the youth that if he ever wanted to stake out a more reputable practice perhaps a prostitute’s bed was not the place to conduct business. Though he never asked for the services of the room’s occupant he doubted it helped his reputation to share her apartment even temporarily...but then maybe it did.
The ravenous desire for more was quenched by a feast of information so rich and thick the poor youth struggled to process all the clues and puzzle pieces. True he had been conditioned to speed up the workings of his mind, but the old mauve was stacking up books in his arms higher than his head. The young sleuth wanted them, desired them, but his curiosity quickly found its mouth on a meal nearly too large for itself (though certainly satisfying). What did stand out to Locke was that, though he had lost the battle with fate at the moment, this Silas was indeed someone who would be, should be, known. And, to seal Silas’s place permanently out of the red, it seemed the mauve knew the correct definition of fun.“Your determination is good to hear. I wish you luck in your search.” Truer words had never left that boy’s mouth.
Then the tone turns, drifting over towards the plains of Terrastella. Again Locke notes the blood still dripping from the other’s mouth, and again he remembers that though the other appeared to be alright, that may not be the case. Yet, still he found himself caught, and his mind unable to fill in the blank of “Let me help you by____”. It was the draught of experience caused by his age and his lack of a friendlier figure than a royal rival half brother, and a two timing, back stab- that mare. As if trying to rid his mouth of sour notes such thoughts left, Locke makes an attempt to move along, literally. “I’m going your way for a while yet.” The continued gentle expression holding, an illusion but ever strong. And to support his claim the youth turns south, slightly west and begins to move slowly onward, with the slow pace being the first concession Locke made to the other’s condition.
It was curiosity, the merchant thief told himself, as he paused to wait for the other. Only curiosity, he promised himself. It was certainly not because Locke finally seemed to find someone who shared his sense of humor, or that they continued to feed the ravenous mind of his with all its favorite snacks and morsels without him even having to work for it. And it of course had nothing to do with the fact that Locke had not had a ‘normal’ conversation like this (and this was fairly normal for this realm) in weeks, possibly months. And under no circumstances was it because he seemed to have found the first non-criminal friend since those two unnamed shadows of his memory. No, those couldn’t be the reasons at all why Locke found himself walking slowly along with the castout mauve, waiting without comment to see if he came.
“I know little about your method of travel.” Apparently Locke’s ‘curiosity’ was also pushing him to commit the stupidity to now volunteer information. “Though I wonder, besides continuing the path you have now laid for yourself: what had you hoped to find here?” It was a weak query, but valid. Locke had arrived here hot off the heels of ‘Get me the hell out of there’, and even in his few weeks as he learned this world he found several in the same position. Silas, didn’t seem to be of the same mind. Locke was taking advantage of his overactive curiosity to fill the void and perhaps discover why someone who was at the pinnacle of their trade would risk it all. Had the youth actually paused to truly think about that statement, or if he had turned the tables on himself (which was a very possible thing to do as he too had left quite a lot behind) Locke would find the answer obvious. But self answered questions did not solve awkward silences, or help young thieves manage the foreign roadmap of manners.
OOC:: @Silasthein Finally! Sorry for your wait darling! We can keep this going or I can wrap it up next post? Your choice. =]
