Legend of Ransera

The Velvet Cabaret was open, even in the middle of the day. It moved more slowly, only revving up enough to keep those clients who were there happy. Food was available, as well as drinks and all the other intoxicants one might prefer later. A scantily clad woman was standing on the stage and singing a sweet song about her poor, lost pussy.

If a travel-weary young man were to let himself in, clearly fresh—metaphorically speaking—from the road, nobody would glance askance. The bartender on duty would wave him over, offer him a seat and ask his poison, would tell him what was on the menu because he looked more hungry than thirsty. If he asked after a man named Aurin, he would be offered something to eat and something to drink on the house. Sometimes Aurin's name could be a code. Sometimes the folks working for Madame Lunaria just looked out for each other.

If he could stand being fed and watered—or something stronger than water—he would then be told that Aurin had worked late last night. That he wasn't in. If the young man looked disappointed or defeated, a kind bartender might suggest a red-roofed building in the alley. Walk out the front door, he would say, turn away from the Peacock, toward the Crane. Around that way. Easy peasy. When he found it, it would be much as he described—not a mansion in Antiris, but a cottage in the Plaza of Jeweled Arches, its red roof long since faded from garnet to something else. In any case, it had been an outbuilding of the Cabaret until he bought it off of Lunaria, so if it was a little faded, it made the roof of the Cabaret stand out all the more to horny bird boys flying overhead, though she stopped short of having someone paint huge letters spelling out C U M I N S I D E.

If he tried the door, it would be locked. If he cased the joint, the windows would be barred, heavy curtains drawn. High up under the eaves, though, wooden slats were open to let breezes through, carrying out the hottest air as it rose to the top. Clever. Through them, though, all that could be heard were the faint sounds of sleeping.

If he knocked, a sleeping voice would shout, "Go away!"

If, nevertheless, he persisted, fumbling sounds would approach the door. It would unlock. A familiar face, rumpled with not enough sleep, would peer blearily out at him. Hazel eyes might smolder with something like self-loathing, or it could just have been sleep. The door was open enough to reveal about half of his body, a sheet held around his waist. His chest and arms bore scars. Some of them might even be the ones that helped make unexpected touch so jarring.

But his mind was quick to wake, a survival skill. As soon as it did, he said, "Arvine."

If Arvine was listening through his mother's bequest, he might be overwhelmed by the jangle of mostly negative emotions that hung from something perhaps even more jarring: joy.

Then he made three obvious observations: "You made it. You're here. You're alive."

Then, "See, I didn't lie about not having a mansion. I'm... sorry about how I acted." His voice hushed as though he didn't want to be overheard. This was his doorstep, not a random tavern in a city far, far away. "I didn't mean to leave it like that, but I understand why you wouldn't want to meet me. But I'm glad to see you."

Aurin started to laugh at the kid's joke—well, he'd be eighteen now, so not a kid, though he still looked like he could stand to double down on a few meals for a while. When he started to topple, reflex took over and he caught him, only partially getting tangled up in his sheet toga. He paused. Arvine was breathing, so that was a good start. No visible injuries. Sweet. Well, perhaps this was a good thing. It would avoid a little bit of awkwardness.

"Hey, ladies?" he called. "Could you give us the room?"

When his companions had quit the space, he was able to pull up the covers and lay Arvine out. He got dressed and, on second thought, pulled out some clothes he didn't wear anymore for Arvine to wear later. His own looked travel-stained and worn. He could score some nicer castoffs from the Cabaret's stores, or he could take him to get some new stuff of his own later. He hadn't forgotten Arvine and he hadn't forgotten his promise. He would make good on it.

He put the kettle on, but drank the entire thing and still Arry slept. He busied himself with a lot of little tasks about the cottage that needed doing. Still, he slept. He didn't stir at any point when Aurin came and went, though he told him he would be right back as he hurried back and forth from the Cabaret with more food, more bedding, more clothes. He even brought boots that might fit, having held his own against Arry's to try to size them. The place didn't look homey, really. He kept it rather spartan. If anything could be called a decoration, it would be, perhaps, the various peasant tools that could also work as weapons that hung from the walls. In fact, he was sharpening the blade of a kama, considering something for supper, when he thought he heard the kid murmuring.

It was getting dark, so he turned on the aether-fueled lamp that would give steady light but blessedly little in the way of heat as the searing season gave them plenty of that.

He put the kettle on again, not trying to sneak, but make enough safe noises that the golden thief wouldn't be startled more than necessary in a new environment.

Aurin wasn't sure if he was imagining hearing his name, but as he opened the door with his hip, arms full of wood from the woodpile around the corner, he saw Arvine was awake. For all that he had been watching over and preparing his home for Arvine all day while the lad slept, his smile was still wary. He had tried to apologize immediately, but Arvine had gone and fainted, probably from exhaustion. He may have used his dirty trick to peek, verifying that Arvine hadn't come to die on his doorstep.

"Hey, kid," he said, managing to sound nonchalant as if his presence had been expected. "Woke up in time for supper. Late supper, anyway. Hungry?"

He stacked the wood in the metal cache near the hearth. His kitchen didn't get a lot of use; he did store some food there, but mostly grabbed things to eat next door at work. He kept less in the summer as things didn't keep as well in the heat, but he remembered Arvine being an eater and he didn't know if he was going to have the strength or will to go next door, and so he had stocked up a bit. Trips back and forth had kept him occupied in the intervening hours while Arvine slept.

Not sure about the care and feeding of the young, he just started setting the table for him. There was only the one chair at the table, but he could eat standing up. It was basically a recreation of what they had shared two years previous. He couldn't say why he remembered it in detail. The stew had been simmering in the hearth. A small cask of ale was still cold from the wine cellar next door. There was tea as well, because who knew how the lad would feel. There was even a small lemon cake with a pot of honey. He just kept adding things to the spread, hoping Arvine would come sit and he could make up for being a shithead.

Aurin listened quietly, let the ghost of a smile light him up for a moment as the nostalgia he had provoked. Then he cleared his throat, ladling some stew into another bowl for himself. He leaned against the wall, not quite remember how to be with someone who knew he was full of shit.

"I didn't think you were scared," he averred. He admitted, "I was an asshole. You were too smart and your eyes saw too much. Felt cornered and my crazy came out. Lashed out. Tried to hurt your feelings and I guess I did. I am sorry." He shook his head. "I should've made the offer contingent on you not going back. I know how those scenarios play out. Thought about going back, but... I didn't. Water under the bridge, I guess. I hope. I mean, here you are. Welcome to my home."

He made a gesture from another place, his fingers touching heart, lips, brow, and then out. It wouldn't mean anything to the half-elf, but it did to him.

Glib Aurin didn't really know what to say. It was so rare that he actually connected with a person that he remembered a day two years previous in a faraway city as if it were yesterday, but he realized he didn't really know Arvine. He just recognized similar patterns in their stories. He shouldn't make assumptions. Perhaps he would get to know Arvine finally, instead of pushing him away or keeping him at a safe distance. He knew safety wasn't a real thing. For all that he was good at playing a person at the Cabaret, he wasn't very good at it outside its walls.

"You made it, though. On your own. I respect that. Now that you're here, try to relax. Eat, sleep, explore the city. I'll help however I can. Like I said I would."

One hand still cradling his bowl of stew, the other spread wide. His smile was tight at first, but he loosened up as things went on. The shaking and the coughing, though, he hoped were temporary, things that he could sleep off. Perhaps if he were more practiced with his dirty trick, he could tell for certain if there were some underlying illness that needed addressing.

"I guess I'm a right bitch, then. And, well, when I've had enough of your shit, I'll just go back to work." He laughed. "And when you've had enough of mine, well... Leave if you want, but you can come back." Being an actual human person was infinitely more difficult than playing at one next door, where he had a clear purpose and function, the tools of his trade old and comfortable now."

Anyway, logistics were a necessary conversation, and easier than whatever else they might have talked about. Indicating the far corner of the cottage, he began, "There's water in the ewer there for washing up. I've got some old clothes and boots of mine that might fit you. Brought some from the Cabaret's storage too. If nothing works, we can go get you some things of your own when your wandering feet have had more rest."

Toward the hearth, "Plenty of food and water for a while. We can always get more next door, too. One of the good things about this gig is perks like that. Better baths next door as well, but I can't smell you from here, so that might not be a priority yet. Maybe take you to the Crane soon. Best baths, massages. They'll make you feel like a mountain of gold. Help you recover from your journey, hey?" He paused. "You're just exhausted, I guess?" He wanted to pry, but he was hoping that more of their time together would be pleasant than the inevitable clashes of personality. Clashes were fine; friends could work around those. Well, he didn't know if they were friends exactly. Maybe someday.

"If that cough lingers, we'll go see a healer."