Glade 2nd, 121
Musty. Damp. Deep in the dank dolmen of a mental dome.
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.....Drip.........
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...Click.
Claws squeezed. Trembled, inward. Clutching at the binding around the throat they belonged to. White danced behind green orbs like faeries, the orbs dimming with every blink until iron bars backed by grey came into focus. Warbling like nails to tin filled both ears, tinnitus clinging to every thought.
”Where am I...?” Rolling with a weight so profound, Tom tilted through a foggy ache grasping at his limbs. Toes curling, he hugged his abdomen. Those sharp little eyes glanced down the stairs.
”That’s right.”
”The stairs.”
Drifting like a haze, Tom shambled to his feet and crept down the winding stone steps, humid and slippery beneath his bare, padded toes. Jaw slack, throat dry, he emerged into a bleak hall. Without a lick of motivation for the moment, he took his sweet time. Five days a week, yeah. But today was an off-day.
Ears perked. Thudding boots stormed around the corner, a distant thunder growing near. Tom’s eyes rolled, and he leaned into the wall to let them pass. They almost missed him.
“Tom.” The word was gruff, spoke with such disdain.
“Lars,” replied Tom, tilting his head back and yawning into a paw. The Sky Guard Soraken--a captain--before Tom was festooned in colorful heraldry and tokens of honor, but that uniform just looked like a tacky dress in his eyes.
The captain’s rough hand gripped the arm of a recruit by his side, two flanking soldiers stiffening. “Mars,” growled Captain Lars. “You let this Oddsmaker Legionnaire out of your sight? He needs supervision. You lost him, and had to have him divined. Half rations ought to teach you a lesson.”
The wry young man glared at Tom. Tom glared right back. “Yes, sir,” said Mars, his dirty blonde hair unkempt--there’d been a stir this morning. The fox just shrugged.
“Tom,” said the Captain once more. “Solitary outside of training and duty, the next four weeks.”
“Oh, thank the gods,” wheezed Tom, smiling that coy grin. “Four walls and a pan beats the crummy barracks any day.”
“Supplies duty. Two weeks.”
Tom’s ears wilted. The one job he really, really hated. The man knew every soul in this garrison pretty damn well, he had to admit. “Augh, twist the knife why don’t-cha. All’s I wanted was some peace and quiet.” Tight little claws pulled his ears down, and he shook his head.
“Four. And don’t you dare featherweight those crates for a single moment, Oddsmaker, or you’re getting a lash for every pound,” sneered the captain, and he marched off, leaving the fox with his handler. The pair shared a long stare.
“So...” Tom grinned. “Now that ‘e’s bit me, what’s your poison, eh Mars?”
Mars crossed his arms. “Well, Tom, I thought we had an understanding,” said the young fellow. “But ya made me look bad, wandering off last night. Come on... what do you want, guy? Won’t you make my life just a bit easier?”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” chuckled Tom. “But, ehh...” He rubbed the back of his head. “You know I’ve got these ears, and my mind’s been... rattled. I’m still sore from getting flattened in the Warrens, and... and I don’t feckin’ know, man? I just need my space. Besides, not like I got long to live, so why the feck should I care?”
“You told me you want to survive,” said Mars. “I know a Mesmer who’d help you with your freezing problem.”
Tom’s lips sealed tight, before they parted wry in disgust. The fox shook his head. “I ain’t lettin’ no shrink feck with my head, I tell you what. Riker got a few screws loosened after his therapy, an’ the same’s gonna happen to me.” He pointed up at Mars. “I ain’t gonna freeze next time.”
But his finger shook, and his knees felt like jelly. Tom started to walk, but slid along the wall into a heap. “Ugh.” Mars popped a squat next to the crumpled Rathari, offering him a hand. Tom didn’t take it, but he looked at it. “Smug bastard,” groused Tom as he pulled himself up. “You’re too patient for your own damn good, I feckin’ hate that I can’t get under your skin like the others.”
Mars laughed. “Yeah, I get the feeling that’s why they assigned me to you. I’m on you like glue, bud.”
“Maybe I ought to sticky that boot of yours to the ground, and leave ya here?” Tom joked, picking himself up and brushing himself off. The images of that horror were still fresh on his eyes, but he could see through them if he blinked and didn’t think about it. Patting himself down, he slipped a mitt into his pocket and pulled free a comb, preening through his fur.
“I’ve been thinking, to survive, y’know I need’a get better at this magic business,” mumbled Tom. “If I’m gonna be useful, I can’t be so feckin’ weak and hopeless, an’ powerless, and every other -less there’s gotta be in the diction.” Running that comb between his ears, he pulled his tail closer and worked out all the tangles there too until it was nice and smooth.
“The upper brass are lookin’ for ways to motivate you. I could get you assigned to an Elementalism drill,” hummed Mars, itching the fuzz on his chin.
Tom lifted his paws. “No, no, I don’t walk that cant. Don’t you feel me, at all, hume?” Brushing the back of his head, he squeezed his hackles. “Ooh, what I need is... a one on one guy. An uh, tutor.”
“That’s gonna be a tough sell, Tom,” shrugged Mars. “You know how resources are around here.”
“If they want me at my best, I need to know what I’m doin’ before I can drill it, y’know? Just a couple weeks and I think this time it’ll work out... or it won’t, and I can figure out what the feck I’m good at. They’ll bite if they really want it enough.”
Mars let out a long sigh. “Are you really sure that you know what you want? I get needing to sleep somewhere else, but you’ve got all these other crotchety ‘Tom-isms’ that’re getting on the nerves of everyone.”
It was a good, fair question. Tom leaned into the wall, looking down at his handler’s boots as his heart pounded, a tightness in his chest. “So what am I supposed to do then? My lawyer was a quack, an’ how I like things doesn’t matter anymore. I lived with the wind over me my whole life, and now I’m in this feckin’ cave suspended over a dark sea of monsters, and I’m supposed to just ‘bark bark bark, I’m a good boy, yes master, I’ll chase the duck’ and get feckin’ eaten by it.” Tom slid back down, a tremble rising through his gut.
“I don’t belong here.” He clutched his head, eyes wide. I can’t... I can’t do this.”
Tom wheezed, shattering like a glass pane at Mars’ boots. The guy tilted his head down at the mess before him. “You...”
“Ssschft. Hfft.”
“Are you crying?” He’d never seen Tom cry.
“It’s not okay,” Tom whispered, as clouds of gray drifted through him. “They all died...”
“Tom, it’s... part of the job,” Mars said, at a loss for what to say.
“They all feckin’ died, man. Feck you. Their lives gotta mean sometin’ or what the FECK am I DOIN’ here?” yelled the fox. Tink. He slammed his bracers into the wall at his side, then whipped up to his feet and trudged off, tail tucked. “I’m better by myself,” he called. “I don’t wanna know dead men walkin’ because I ain’t got room for no more.”
Mars’ eyes tightened, the uniform-clad soldier rubbing over his forehead. “Oh, Tom, what’m I gonna do with you?” With a sigh, he followed after Tom, jogging to catch up. “When’s the last time you ate, anyway?”
“Two days,” said Tom with a sharp tremble to his voice. “There’s nothin’ I can eat without gettin’ sick cuz’ all there is-is hard tack rations. If I could feel my Zoan I could shift to eat it, but I’m like this, so I only eat on salted jerky days. Today’s... but I missed it, I think. I’m so hungry, now that I think about it... all the time.”
Mars pulled out a little book, with a pencil. He started writing, cataloging all of Tom’s little issues. “Well, maybe you’ll feel better if you ate proper.”
“I’m used to it,” murmured Tom, trying to shy away from the help, like always.
“I’m gonna fix you up, Tom,” said Mars. “We’re gonna be thick as thieves, you and I.”
“That... doesn’t mean what you think it means,” coughed Tom. “Besides... why?”
“Well, if you’re always like this, you’re gonna just keep dragging me down with you... so I have my reasons,” said Mars.
“Oh, yeah, right.” Tom’s nose tilted up. “Not a word to anyone about me crying though, or I swear I’ll criss-cross your boot laces when ya aren’t looking.”
Mars snorted. “That’s the spirit.”
“Pah.”
I’m gonna die for these people. I don’t want to die. You’re not gonna make me feel good about this... I won’t let you...
Musty. Damp. Deep in the dank dolmen of a mental dome.
...
.......
...............
.....Drip.........
.......
..........
......
...Click.
Claws squeezed. Trembled, inward. Clutching at the binding around the throat they belonged to. White danced behind green orbs like faeries, the orbs dimming with every blink until iron bars backed by grey came into focus. Warbling like nails to tin filled both ears, tinnitus clinging to every thought.
”Where am I...?” Rolling with a weight so profound, Tom tilted through a foggy ache grasping at his limbs. Toes curling, he hugged his abdomen. Those sharp little eyes glanced down the stairs.
”That’s right.”
”The stairs.”
Drifting like a haze, Tom shambled to his feet and crept down the winding stone steps, humid and slippery beneath his bare, padded toes. Jaw slack, throat dry, he emerged into a bleak hall. Without a lick of motivation for the moment, he took his sweet time. Five days a week, yeah. But today was an off-day.
Ears perked. Thudding boots stormed around the corner, a distant thunder growing near. Tom’s eyes rolled, and he leaned into the wall to let them pass. They almost missed him.
“Tom.” The word was gruff, spoke with such disdain.
“Lars,” replied Tom, tilting his head back and yawning into a paw. The Sky Guard Soraken--a captain--before Tom was festooned in colorful heraldry and tokens of honor, but that uniform just looked like a tacky dress in his eyes.
The captain’s rough hand gripped the arm of a recruit by his side, two flanking soldiers stiffening. “Mars,” growled Captain Lars. “You let this Oddsmaker Legionnaire out of your sight? He needs supervision. You lost him, and had to have him divined. Half rations ought to teach you a lesson.”
The wry young man glared at Tom. Tom glared right back. “Yes, sir,” said Mars, his dirty blonde hair unkempt--there’d been a stir this morning. The fox just shrugged.
“Tom,” said the Captain once more. “Solitary outside of training and duty, the next four weeks.”
“Oh, thank the gods,” wheezed Tom, smiling that coy grin. “Four walls and a pan beats the crummy barracks any day.”
“Supplies duty. Two weeks.”
Tom’s ears wilted. The one job he really, really hated. The man knew every soul in this garrison pretty damn well, he had to admit. “Augh, twist the knife why don’t-cha. All’s I wanted was some peace and quiet.” Tight little claws pulled his ears down, and he shook his head.
“Four. And don’t you dare featherweight those crates for a single moment, Oddsmaker, or you’re getting a lash for every pound,” sneered the captain, and he marched off, leaving the fox with his handler. The pair shared a long stare.
“So...” Tom grinned. “Now that ‘e’s bit me, what’s your poison, eh Mars?”
Mars crossed his arms. “Well, Tom, I thought we had an understanding,” said the young fellow. “But ya made me look bad, wandering off last night. Come on... what do you want, guy? Won’t you make my life just a bit easier?”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” chuckled Tom. “But, ehh...” He rubbed the back of his head. “You know I’ve got these ears, and my mind’s been... rattled. I’m still sore from getting flattened in the Warrens, and... and I don’t feckin’ know, man? I just need my space. Besides, not like I got long to live, so why the feck should I care?”
“You told me you want to survive,” said Mars. “I know a Mesmer who’d help you with your freezing problem.”
Tom’s lips sealed tight, before they parted wry in disgust. The fox shook his head. “I ain’t lettin’ no shrink feck with my head, I tell you what. Riker got a few screws loosened after his therapy, an’ the same’s gonna happen to me.” He pointed up at Mars. “I ain’t gonna freeze next time.”
But his finger shook, and his knees felt like jelly. Tom started to walk, but slid along the wall into a heap. “Ugh.” Mars popped a squat next to the crumpled Rathari, offering him a hand. Tom didn’t take it, but he looked at it. “Smug bastard,” groused Tom as he pulled himself up. “You’re too patient for your own damn good, I feckin’ hate that I can’t get under your skin like the others.”
Mars laughed. “Yeah, I get the feeling that’s why they assigned me to you. I’m on you like glue, bud.”
“Maybe I ought to sticky that boot of yours to the ground, and leave ya here?” Tom joked, picking himself up and brushing himself off. The images of that horror were still fresh on his eyes, but he could see through them if he blinked and didn’t think about it. Patting himself down, he slipped a mitt into his pocket and pulled free a comb, preening through his fur.
“I’ve been thinking, to survive, y’know I need’a get better at this magic business,” mumbled Tom. “If I’m gonna be useful, I can’t be so feckin’ weak and hopeless, an’ powerless, and every other -less there’s gotta be in the diction.” Running that comb between his ears, he pulled his tail closer and worked out all the tangles there too until it was nice and smooth.
“The upper brass are lookin’ for ways to motivate you. I could get you assigned to an Elementalism drill,” hummed Mars, itching the fuzz on his chin.
Tom lifted his paws. “No, no, I don’t walk that cant. Don’t you feel me, at all, hume?” Brushing the back of his head, he squeezed his hackles. “Ooh, what I need is... a one on one guy. An uh, tutor.”
“That’s gonna be a tough sell, Tom,” shrugged Mars. “You know how resources are around here.”
“If they want me at my best, I need to know what I’m doin’ before I can drill it, y’know? Just a couple weeks and I think this time it’ll work out... or it won’t, and I can figure out what the feck I’m good at. They’ll bite if they really want it enough.”
Mars let out a long sigh. “Are you really sure that you know what you want? I get needing to sleep somewhere else, but you’ve got all these other crotchety ‘Tom-isms’ that’re getting on the nerves of everyone.”
It was a good, fair question. Tom leaned into the wall, looking down at his handler’s boots as his heart pounded, a tightness in his chest. “So what am I supposed to do then? My lawyer was a quack, an’ how I like things doesn’t matter anymore. I lived with the wind over me my whole life, and now I’m in this feckin’ cave suspended over a dark sea of monsters, and I’m supposed to just ‘bark bark bark, I’m a good boy, yes master, I’ll chase the duck’ and get feckin’ eaten by it.” Tom slid back down, a tremble rising through his gut.
“I don’t belong here.” He clutched his head, eyes wide. I can’t... I can’t do this.”
Tom wheezed, shattering like a glass pane at Mars’ boots. The guy tilted his head down at the mess before him. “You...”
“Ssschft. Hfft.”
“Are you crying?” He’d never seen Tom cry.
“It’s not okay,” Tom whispered, as clouds of gray drifted through him. “They all died...”
“Tom, it’s... part of the job,” Mars said, at a loss for what to say.
“They all feckin’ died, man. Feck you. Their lives gotta mean sometin’ or what the FECK am I DOIN’ here?” yelled the fox. Tink. He slammed his bracers into the wall at his side, then whipped up to his feet and trudged off, tail tucked. “I’m better by myself,” he called. “I don’t wanna know dead men walkin’ because I ain’t got room for no more.”
Mars’ eyes tightened, the uniform-clad soldier rubbing over his forehead. “Oh, Tom, what’m I gonna do with you?” With a sigh, he followed after Tom, jogging to catch up. “When’s the last time you ate, anyway?”
“Two days,” said Tom with a sharp tremble to his voice. “There’s nothin’ I can eat without gettin’ sick cuz’ all there is-is hard tack rations. If I could feel my Zoan I could shift to eat it, but I’m like this, so I only eat on salted jerky days. Today’s... but I missed it, I think. I’m so hungry, now that I think about it... all the time.”
Mars pulled out a little book, with a pencil. He started writing, cataloging all of Tom’s little issues. “Well, maybe you’ll feel better if you ate proper.”
“I’m used to it,” murmured Tom, trying to shy away from the help, like always.
“I’m gonna fix you up, Tom,” said Mars. “We’re gonna be thick as thieves, you and I.”
“That... doesn’t mean what you think it means,” coughed Tom. “Besides... why?”
“Well, if you’re always like this, you’re gonna just keep dragging me down with you... so I have my reasons,” said Mars.
“Oh, yeah, right.” Tom’s nose tilted up. “Not a word to anyone about me crying though, or I swear I’ll criss-cross your boot laces when ya aren’t looking.”
Mars snorted. “That’s the spirit.”
“Pah.”
I’m gonna die for these people. I don’t want to die. You’re not gonna make me feel good about this... I won’t let you...