Legend of Ransera

"Well," he said grudgingly, cracking a grudging smile, "if you're garbage then so am I."

He glanced over his shoulder, noticed the bar wench returning.

"Ask him about dessert if you want. Might as well take me all I'm worth while I'm feeling penitent and nostalgic." His smile turned into a smirk, which seemed to fit his face better. "Just don't go porking to the point where you hork up my peace offering. That's just fucking rude."

And then bar wench was there asking after things. Maybe it was also fucking rude to think of him as bar wench, but he wasn't going to ask him his name like one of those customers who wanted to form a personal connection like that made them nobler than customers who were polite and paid them for doing their job. And he was somewhere between realizing the stupidity of offering the thief his alias and not quite wanting to share his real name.

"How was everything, sirs?"

"Obviously disgusting," he said, indicating his empty bowl and the remains of the bread that the thief hadn't quite finished. "I'll have another ale, though. As for him..." He nodded toward the one he might have called my friend for politeness' sake, but didn't say because it would have been a lie and possibly been upsetting. "We both have to get back to work, but it's up to you." That said, he drank more of his dwindling ale, leaving him to order another if he thought best and ask about dessert if he wanted it. He was a young man, but Aurin didn't know if he was too young to drink here in Antiris. The way he figured it, if the city wasn't going to afford people a childhood, then they ought to leave them alone to drink adult beverages and drown the sorrows inflicted by an uncaring city.

When the bar wench turned his gaze to Aurin, the grifter shook his head no. He wasn't a growing boy any longer. Perhaps the thief wasn't either; he had put so much effort into hiding who he was that it was difficult for Aurin to tell for all his practice at reading people—and that for much the same purpose: marks.

"Nostalgic," he clarified, "because I don't know the details of your life, but I remember when mine relied on stealing from other people and it not seeming like the world would ever give me a break." He smiled, but it was sad. Not maudlin, not regretful, just sad.

"A ragged urchin, aimless and alone,
Loitered about that vacancy; a bird
Flew up to safety from his well-aimed stone:
That girls are raped, that two boys knife a third,
Were axioms to him, who'd never heard
Of any world where promises were kept,
Or one could weep because another wept."

He wasn't a performer, but he spent most of his time with them. Perhaps he had picked up a cadence or a flourish by association.

"Not asking you to weep with me..." Normally words tumbled out of him like a spell. Not today, it seemed. He couldn't quite articulate anything around this kid whose Hytori eyes looked back on him like mirrors. "I guess I don't actually know what I wanted. Maybe when I pulled my trick, I saw someone like myself in you. Or maybe I wanted to. You're a mouthy little shit, so maybe I wasn't wrong." He smirked. "Don't worry about it. I'm not buttering you up for a fuck even if you do have pretty eyes. Have your cake, finish your ale, and we can part ways, go back to our separate grifts."

He heard footsteps across the room and he turned his head so he could confirm it was bar wench with the ale. In fact, it was bar wench with two tankards held in one hand by the handles and a rather enormous serving of lemon cake on a plate in the other. He smiled slightly, finished his ale. But he didn't embarrass himself, bar wench, or the thief with another dad joke. It didn't make him think of his father, but he wondered whether fathers started making those jokes because they didn't know what else to say in any given moment, lame humor to cover nerves and nothingness.

"I wish," he said quietly, absently rubbing at his wrist as if he would have preferred that to whatever else had transpired. He was quiet, watching and waiting as the thief asserted himself for a pot of honey. When they were alone again, tried to put things forth simply and truthfully, perhaps with more context than he had had when it was happening.

"No one saved me. At least, not directly. When I outgrew my place... someone tried to take me out, but I took them out instead. But they had friends and things were changing. People can be worse than the weather, and groups are only more stable until they aren't. I suppose it was an opportunity. If that hadn't happened, I might still be there, jockeying for position. Maybe I would've come to enjoy the killing and the hurting. I killed enough. Hurt more. I'm not bragging. It was awful. Hopefully, they think I'm dead. Just to be sure, though, I ran. From place to place, fucking up because I was fucked up." He took a sip of ale, grew quiet as the honey was delivered and the bar wench left them be again.

"Now, I think I was running from myself, too. Didn't know how I fit into the world because now it was up to me, at least more than it ever had been before. Running from yourself isn't something you worry about when you're running for your life. It catches up to you, though. Eventually. And I guess some opportunities look like someone trying to kill you. Or someone picking your pocket." He chuckled darkly.

"Like I said, keep your eyes open. Be adaptable. Be this." He indicated the thief's costume, especially his hat. "But be ready to pull that hat off and be what else you can pass for. Keep them guessing. "If a constable's chasing a human thief one way and crosses paths with a Hytori calmly walking the way he came, he's probably going to ignore the Hytori. Standing out can be camouflage too. You just have to know which tool to use for which problem."

He sighed. "I wouldn't even discount the odd prayer to the god of luck. I don't even know how to say trust me, just don't trust anyone without... I mean, contradicting myself. Maybe I was just too stubborn to lay down and die."

Today was not a good day. A touch made him think he was about to be murdered. An attempt to be kind made him bring down the mood not just for himself, but for some alternate past version of himself. "Hope is a demon bitch, but I guess she keeps us alive. I hope that cake is sweet enough to counter my bitter."

Watching the kid enjoy his cake tempered his descent into old madnesses. It was unlikely he could save this kid, but he could give him a fully belly and enough coin his master wouldn't likely beat him tonight. Maybe that was enough and he would figure out the rest on his own.

He felt a faint flare of pure delight, compersion for the lad's simple pleasure, but it twisted into something more like a smirk because, well, this was Aurin Kavafis. He couldn't be himself if he tried. In fact, he wasn't sure he knew himself. For all his protestations when people lumped him in with the courtesans he managed, he was also adept at playing roles and giving people what they wanted so he could get what he wanted. It was a life.

"Don't keep all your eggs in one basket," he said. "You only got one of my coin purses." He had already paid for the first round of drinks and the lunch so he could sneak the bar wench a bit of the tip early and ensure good service. He could still afford the rest of the drinks and the cake. He would have made a joke about going halvsies on the date, but he wanted the kid to hold onto the coin he had stolen. And anyway, he had more coin hidden where he was staying. He wasn't an amateur.

Reaching out slowly, he picked up a morsel of cake and popped it into his mouth. It was good—sweet honey, sour lemon, moist cake. If he had been the thief, he would have been flirting with the bar wench. Go on a few dates. Secure some good food. But he seemed content with his employment for the moment. Aurin only hoped he kept his eyes and ears open and would be ready to adapt when the time violently came. It always did. It was always violent. Such was the nature of the world.

"I'm glad you like it."

The benevolent smirk persisted. He couldn't remember ever enjoying anything as simply as the young thief did.

"Tastes like it was baked just today. Maybe yesterday if they're storing it under glass so it doesn't dry out." He paused, smirk intensifying. "Well, I don't eat like that. But thankfully I don't often miss a meal anymore." He had only had his bowl of stew and a bite of the cake, forgoing his bread to fill the lad's belly. So many questions, and then what might have been a plea passed off as a joke... He considered the kid, calculated the risks. He dropped the Haqs dialect for the Kalzasi one that was, for the most part, how he spoke anymore.

"I have a little cottage behind the building where I work," he admitted. "Back in Kalzasi. I'm only in Antiris for a week, most likely. I've had a number of jobs. Now I'm a manager at a cabaret. Keep the clients drinking, smoking, and gambling away their money. Keep them from getting overly friendly with the courtesans and performers. I got lucky, I guess." He blew air through his lips, not sure why he was going out on a limb, sure the lad wouldn't take him up on it—trust took more than a little kindness. "You could come back with me, if you want. You've got a knack for the artful. They'll feed and house you, teach you to sing and dance, or deal cards and mix drinks. Not all the workers do the sex work, although there's nothing wrong with that as long as it's your choice and not chosen for you. Besides, you're probably too young to make that choice, at least by the Madame's standards."

Aurin didn't really want him to make that choice at whatever age he was, not until he had options and that was just one of them. He wasn't trying to steal anyone's agency, but he had seen a few young things choose sex, thinking it would be a lark, only to find it wasn't always.

"You'll say no. That's okay. Maybe when things fall apart here, though, if you can get yourself to Kalzasi, find the Velvet Cabaret and ask for Aurin. That's me. Just don't... spread it around here. Darus has some things to take care of while Aurin's on holiday."