Something about the boy made the hair on the back of the guard's neck stand on edge. He didn't know what it was. His face? His voice? His eyes? He had seen him pass the scarf to the kid – and his soft heart obliged some affection for the act. But now... now all he could muster was a silence that stretched between them like miles and miles of jagged glass, and he wasn't sure which of them would cross first. He merely stared, suspicious, and could not for the life of him know why. But something, something – “Hey, ain't you...” the voice of his comrade lumbered through those miles of glass like a blundering colt, but he had a small moment of relief. “Ain't you that... oh, damn what's that name?” Galen looked at the night sky as if Caligo would answer him, and the first guard thought about how much he hated his voice, too, and never thought about it until now. “It's not ain't, Galen. That's not a word.” Skell, on the other side, broke the musing. The agitated guard, Lassar, looked over them both with disgust. Galen scoffed, “How do you figure? Read some books and think you know something, don't ya?” “Yeah? You chug some malts and think you are some eloquent pisspot with a brick for brains.” “When's the last time yuz been laid, Skell? And I don't mean flattened out at the Nook n' Cranny by some drunk with a mule kick.” “Charming, Gale, and professional –” “Stop.” Lassar's voice – older, solid, finite, growling, cut through their banter like a disappointed father.
He still couldn't figure out what it was that he didn't like about the boy in front of them, but he knew the feeling was getting worse the longer he looked at him. He should let him go, he thought, then he wouldn't have to look at him, and that would come as some relief. Just let him be on his way. Why, though? Why not? Lassar shrugged to himself, but it was more of a soft twitch. He opened his mouth to speak, before –
“Gentlemen.”
Erasmus stood in the warm glow cast by a neighboring venue, the cracks of gold in his coat gleaming at them like sardonic grins. His expression relayed nothing. For a moment it was unnervingly empty, and the crescent moon in the pitch of his sockets danced between the four of them like flame in a void. The child in the alley stood behind him, scarf wrapped around her neck. She looked demure for a moment, but when she looked to Reinhart, she grinned, and the expression was almost more impish than it was innocent. A similar grin unfolded on the face of the gold-streaked bay, but the sharp edges of his own cut deeper, darker, as if he himself was a guillotine standing. The guards straightened, and Lassar ripped his gaze from the boy disdainfully. “Sir.” Erasmus gestured toward a backwards alley, throwing his chin in its direction. “Someone complained of an unconscious man down that road. Looks too heavy for one man. You three look capable.” he spoke evenly, distantly, like his voice was cracked open from a distant eon. Not the voice of a man who has stumbled across what may be a corpse in a back alley of the Night Markets. Lassar thinks, more like the voice of a man who killed someone in a back alley.
“But I was –” “Shut up Gale, let's go.” Skell shouldered past Galen in the direction Erasmus pointed, and the three passed by disgruntled, maybe too slow to save a man's life if it needed to be saved, like they were passing through an aching dream. Lassar threw a final suspicious glance over Reinhart, but only briefly before he trotted off into the shadow of the crossing alleys.
The darkness that clambered in their absence crept up Erasmus's spine, darkened the spaces that light could not touch. Shadows seemed to move curiously across his flesh like vipers nestling warmly in the hollows, and those gold cracks that peered out from the deep galaxy of black even more menacingly. His grin, of course, remained, but there was nothing relieving about it – nor were there any threats lingering in it. The girl at his haunches giggled to Reinhart, “thanks, sir.” and took to back to the alley in which she had been assigned. She thought she might end up keeping this scarf – she's stolen enough of them, and she sold most, but this one was the prettiest one she had seen in a while. “You keep odd company.” Erasmus speaks, and the words are soft and smooth baritone, distant as before, like wind filtered through a tin. Like they don't belong to him. But he exists nonetheless, an omen in a starless night, the amber glow touching the reddened spaces of his coat like stirred embers.
In his eyes, in the deep, dark part of his eyes that are as hollow as oubliettes, black holes collapse and something writhes with delicate patience.
He still couldn't figure out what it was that he didn't like about the boy in front of them, but he knew the feeling was getting worse the longer he looked at him. He should let him go, he thought, then he wouldn't have to look at him, and that would come as some relief. Just let him be on his way. Why, though? Why not? Lassar shrugged to himself, but it was more of a soft twitch. He opened his mouth to speak, before –
“Gentlemen.”
Erasmus stood in the warm glow cast by a neighboring venue, the cracks of gold in his coat gleaming at them like sardonic grins. His expression relayed nothing. For a moment it was unnervingly empty, and the crescent moon in the pitch of his sockets danced between the four of them like flame in a void. The child in the alley stood behind him, scarf wrapped around her neck. She looked demure for a moment, but when she looked to Reinhart, she grinned, and the expression was almost more impish than it was innocent. A similar grin unfolded on the face of the gold-streaked bay, but the sharp edges of his own cut deeper, darker, as if he himself was a guillotine standing. The guards straightened, and Lassar ripped his gaze from the boy disdainfully. “Sir.” Erasmus gestured toward a backwards alley, throwing his chin in its direction. “Someone complained of an unconscious man down that road. Looks too heavy for one man. You three look capable.” he spoke evenly, distantly, like his voice was cracked open from a distant eon. Not the voice of a man who has stumbled across what may be a corpse in a back alley of the Night Markets. Lassar thinks, more like the voice of a man who killed someone in a back alley.
“But I was –” “Shut up Gale, let's go.” Skell shouldered past Galen in the direction Erasmus pointed, and the three passed by disgruntled, maybe too slow to save a man's life if it needed to be saved, like they were passing through an aching dream. Lassar threw a final suspicious glance over Reinhart, but only briefly before he trotted off into the shadow of the crossing alleys.
The darkness that clambered in their absence crept up Erasmus's spine, darkened the spaces that light could not touch. Shadows seemed to move curiously across his flesh like vipers nestling warmly in the hollows, and those gold cracks that peered out from the deep galaxy of black even more menacingly. His grin, of course, remained, but there was nothing relieving about it – nor were there any threats lingering in it. The girl at his haunches giggled to Reinhart, “thanks, sir.” and took to back to the alley in which she had been assigned. She thought she might end up keeping this scarf – she's stolen enough of them, and she sold most, but this one was the prettiest one she had seen in a while. “You keep odd company.” Erasmus speaks, and the words are soft and smooth baritone, distant as before, like wind filtered through a tin. Like they don't belong to him. But he exists nonetheless, an omen in a starless night, the amber glow touching the reddened spaces of his coat like stirred embers.
In his eyes, in the deep, dark part of his eyes that are as hollow as oubliettes, black holes collapse and something writhes with delicate patience.
@Reinhart
