FLORIAN
18 Searing 117
These lies were spoken by a boy who, not three days later, had another boy grabbing him by his horn — and horn stub — as he kneed him in the balls in return. The other boy immediately released the Lysanrin and doubled over, while Florian brushed a sweaty curl out of his face. "What the fuck did you say about my mom again?"
"What the fuck to you, that's not a fair hit!" Whined the boy, and Florian replied with a simple punch to the face. Not enough to break a nose, but quite enough to hurt. To be fair, the other boy had instigated the fight, or Florian could justify it that way. While he had been minding his own business, head down, the stupid human called out to him, a jeer about his horns. While it was certainly Florian's fault that it had been broken to begin with, it was a touchy subject, and he reacted in kind — with an insult to the boy's appearance, in comparison to Florian's. Scarred nose and broken horn or not, he was much prettier than a barely-grown man who had nothing better to do than insult random people on the street.
The fight didn't start until blond-boy said something about his mother, however, and that was the impetus for the first thrown hand — and now Florian was winning the fight against someone half a foot taller than him. At least, for now.
"I'll do it again, asshole!" he shouted back, though he didn't throw another punch until the man had recovered enough to fight back. He had to be a little fair. Florian was good at redirecting punches to the face, but this boy clearly wasn't, and after another hit he had a steady stream of blood flowing out of his nose. There was another attempt towards the Lysanrin's face, and Florian managed to grab him by the arm and redirect him into the broken-cobbled street. He held his wrists down at an angle he knew to be painful. The boy's friends only watched, passing a cigarette amongst each other and laughing.
The boy started laughing, too, even with the blood smeared on his face. "Alright, alright. What's your name, kid? You win." Florian was taken a bit aback, and released the man's wrists and sat back. The other boy sat up and rubbed the back of his head, though it hadn't taken as much of the brunt of the impact into the ground as his back did. He grimaced for a moment, but then his smile returned.
"Florian." he said in response. "And I'm not a kid, I'm 19."
"Florian. Well, Florian, I'm 20, and that makes you a kid to me. But you did beat my ass, which means I lost to a kid..." He laughed again, causing the blood to spurt from his nose, to which he moved up his hand to wipe off his face, badly. "Soren." He held out his nose-bloody hand. Florian took it, and they shook. Soren then looked at Florian and gestured to the rest of the boys, whose numbers had already dwindled as the fight wound down. "Those are my friends," he stretched the word with a sarcastic tinge, "But they can't handle themselves in a fight. Rich assholes who like to play tough in the streets before going home to daddy's estate. Just like me!" Florian frowned a bit, and looked at the group. They had stopped paying attention almost as soon as the two had stopped fighting and started talking.
"What the hell are you doing down here for?" He asked, but Soren just shook his head.
"No, you wouldn't get it. Nothing I say would make sense. Honestly, it's all just petty bullshit, you know? But man, you hopped into a fight as soon as I said your mom was a horned whore—" Florian squinted as he repeated the insult, "but now I feel like I oughta apologize."
"I'm not letting you tell my mama you called her that!" Florian yelled, but Soren was already standing up and pulling Florian up by the arm, too.
"Nah, I won't. Let's go for a walk. I don't feel like hanging around those bozos right now." Florian certainly had a choice in the matter, but he was still baffled by Soren's strange behavior that he walked besides him, brushing off dirt and pebbles from his trousers and inspecting spots of blood from the other boy's nose as they turned a corner and started walking through the crowded stacks of tenements and shops and factories.
"What do you mean you come down here to act tough? You from the West End, then?" Soren met Florian's eyes and nodded his response, to which the Lysanrin spit at his feet. "Fuck you, then."
"Hey! I'm not all bad. I don't think I'm all high and mighty, you know."
"I don't believe that for a second."
"If I thought I was so much better than you, I would've just dragged your ass to the closest guard and told 'em you broke my nose."
Florian was quiet for a moment, and then muttered, "I didn't break your nose."
"No, but you bloodied it, and that's all they'd care about."
Florian stopped walking, and then looked at Soren. They had walked a roundabout way deeper into the Knob, with no real destination in sight. "You want me to congratulate you for the bare minimum, eh? For not getting me arrested for a fight you instigated anyway?"
Soren smiled down at him, which seemed to just irritate Florian more. "Of course not. Though I should congratulate you, it seems those scars are well-earned. Not like some random asshole like me who just picks fights, eh?"
"If you live on the West End you've got, what, everything you could ever want? Why even come down here? Pick fights and watch us like we're animals? People've got enough going on without assholes like you playing pretend." Florian was angry, but he didn't try to fight him again. Soren rifled through his pockets and pulled out a partially crushed pack of cigarettes and a pack of matches, lighting one and putting it to his mouth with a gesture to the pack if Florian wanted one. He shook his head. He took a drag and flicked ash into the street.
"No one's quite as honest as you are down here." He started walking again, and Florian, against his better judgement, walked with him. "My mother never worked a day in her life. My father's something-or-other in the Air Defense Corps. And me? I'm a failure compared to my Commander of a brother. But down here, no one gives a shit about that. I'm just some young asshole causing problems on the street in my too-nice clothes. Plus," He leaned in conspiratorially, "The food and drinks are better down here. I think the West End's allergic to salt and spices. What's the point of importing fancy spices if you're not even going to use 'em, is my question." He winked and straightened up again.
"I can't think of a time I crossed the river." Was all Florian had to say.
"Really, never? I can't say you're missing much. There's the theater, there's the estates, the government buildings and the parks..." He paused and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. The bleeding had stopped, but the blood was dried and seemed to make his face itchy. "I guess the air's a little cleaner. Shit, it fucking smells down here."
"Well, yeah, half the shit you take for granted is made or worked on down here."
Florian recognized the part of the Knob they were in. It wasn't far from the apartment his mom rented. He started to direct them towards it, even if he thought it was a bad idea. Letting Soren wash his face was about as much kindness as he was willing to show him right now, but he knew as soon as he invited someone over his mother would have dinner on the stove for the three of them before he could finish a blink.
"You wanna wash your face before you gotta head home? I don't live to far from here." Florian suggested, changing the subject entirely.
"Wow, introducing me to your parents already?" Soren joked, even as Florian glared at him.
"Just being polite. Wouldn't want your daddy to know you lost a fight." Florian walked up to the door and let himself in with the key in his pocket, though Ava was in the kitchen already cooking dinner.
"Don't worry, mama. I didn't break his nose. He just bled a lot." He explained before she even got a good look at the two of them. "Can he use the bathroom and wash up?"
Ava glanced at the two of them and then sighed and went back to stirring the pot on the stove. "Just don't get any blood on my linens. Flor, show him to the washroom and I'll pretend that bloody face isn't your fault."