19 Ash, 121
The pair of strong young men left the High Hopes in a more subdued mood than they had entered it, but seemingly not much worse off for being attacked mid-way through their supper.
Torin let the arm around his shoulders stay as they walked, the sickly slick of adrenaline going cold in his belly made the chill of Ash feel colder than it had as he'd made his way to the famous tavern. He supposed he would be able to brag that he had not gone without a fight on his first trip to the brawlers' haunt. The idea brought a little smile to his face and he verbalized it,
"I suppose it would have been a poor trip to the High Hopes without some sort of a fight, eh? Do you go there often? I'd bet on you if you stepped into the ring." Aurelio was certainly large enough to seem as though he would win a fight, and knowing that combat was his profession made his odds even greater.
The streets were emptying as the setting of the sun had dropped the temperature as low as it had likely been so far in the season and Torin shrugged his cloak closer about himself, pulling it closed with his hands.
"It's gotten cold all of a sudden. I guess Ash is really here after all." The first few weeks had seemed warm still, Searing clinging on to the year.
As they neared the shop with its fenced-in yard and house Torin felt something ticking at his brow. Lifting a hand he found that he was sweating, which made no sense. Frowning down at his damp hand he noticed that the wet on his fingers wasn't the clear of perspiration. Or... not all of it was. Stepping into the light of a street torch he saw that there was, in fact, sweat on his hand, but also blood. It wasn't dried, but it wasn't perfectly fresh either.
"Oh." He said when he noticed Aurelio giving him a questioning loom, "I must have gotten some of the blood on my hands when I broke that man's nose. I'll wash when we get into the house." He gave a reassuring smile, even as his stomach took an odd turn. Perhaps the blood he'd taken to his side had unsettled his meal. Bringing it back up would be a pity, but no great loss.
Stepping forward he unlocked the shop, ushering the taller man inside before locking it again behind him. When he turned again he saw Aurin, leaning casually against the counter. Watching the street was easy from the large shop window, and it was out of the wind. He smiled at his man, brushing his cloak back from his shoulders so he could move more freely he opened his mouth to greet him but then felt more wet brushing against his knuckles. Looking again at his hand he saw fresh blood along the knuckles where he had brushed his side moving his cloak.
"Oh." He said again, and then looked up, reaching for Aurin's eyes with his own. "I... I thought he only punched me."
Holding up his bloodied hand so Aurin would see what he was talking about, he tried to twist enough to see his side, just below the ribs. His clothing was dark but when he lifted it he could see a neat hole in his skin, perhaps an inch long, and seeping blood in a bright line down into the band of his trousers.
The pair of strong young men left the High Hopes in a more subdued mood than they had entered it, but seemingly not much worse off for being attacked mid-way through their supper.
Torin let the arm around his shoulders stay as they walked, the sickly slick of adrenaline going cold in his belly made the chill of Ash feel colder than it had as he'd made his way to the famous tavern. He supposed he would be able to brag that he had not gone without a fight on his first trip to the brawlers' haunt. The idea brought a little smile to his face and he verbalized it,
"I suppose it would have been a poor trip to the High Hopes without some sort of a fight, eh? Do you go there often? I'd bet on you if you stepped into the ring." Aurelio was certainly large enough to seem as though he would win a fight, and knowing that combat was his profession made his odds even greater.
The streets were emptying as the setting of the sun had dropped the temperature as low as it had likely been so far in the season and Torin shrugged his cloak closer about himself, pulling it closed with his hands.
"It's gotten cold all of a sudden. I guess Ash is really here after all." The first few weeks had seemed warm still, Searing clinging on to the year.
As they neared the shop with its fenced-in yard and house Torin felt something ticking at his brow. Lifting a hand he found that he was sweating, which made no sense. Frowning down at his damp hand he noticed that the wet on his fingers wasn't the clear of perspiration. Or... not all of it was. Stepping into the light of a street torch he saw that there was, in fact, sweat on his hand, but also blood. It wasn't dried, but it wasn't perfectly fresh either.
"Oh." He said when he noticed Aurelio giving him a questioning loom, "I must have gotten some of the blood on my hands when I broke that man's nose. I'll wash when we get into the house." He gave a reassuring smile, even as his stomach took an odd turn. Perhaps the blood he'd taken to his side had unsettled his meal. Bringing it back up would be a pity, but no great loss.
Stepping forward he unlocked the shop, ushering the taller man inside before locking it again behind him. When he turned again he saw Aurin, leaning casually against the counter. Watching the street was easy from the large shop window, and it was out of the wind. He smiled at his man, brushing his cloak back from his shoulders so he could move more freely he opened his mouth to greet him but then felt more wet brushing against his knuckles. Looking again at his hand he saw fresh blood along the knuckles where he had brushed his side moving his cloak.
"Oh." He said again, and then looked up, reaching for Aurin's eyes with his own. "I... I thought he only punched me."
Holding up his bloodied hand so Aurin would see what he was talking about, he tried to twist enough to see his side, just below the ribs. His clothing was dark but when he lifted it he could see a neat hole in his skin, perhaps an inch long, and seeping blood in a bright line down into the band of his trousers.
