overcompensation
Posted: Wed Aug 31, 2022 10:46 am
FLORIAN
77 SEARING 122
The entrance he had climbed down was not far from the Cistern, and fifteen minutes of walking, rats scurrying underfoot, brought him there. He was not alone in the dark, but he had not yet run into trouble with another person. Perhaps it was the scars, or the look in his eyes, or the way the shadows seemed to cling to him just a touch more than they should; but he had yet to be mugged, even unarmed, even dressed as he was.
The Cistern seemed to be the hub of the Middens, from what he had learned. It was from there that one found everywhere, everything else; and it was likely that there, someone would have seen the seven foot tall bat-winged Kathar that had wandered off and -- if he was here -- almost certainly gotten into trouble by now.
There was the scrape of boot against pavement behind him and Florian grabbed the wrist of a would-be pickpocket, though the demigod had lived far too long in the Knob to keep anything worthwhile in an exterior pocket. He turned, still holding onto the wrist of a boy much younger and shorter than he was. A human, with dirt on his face and frustration in his eyes. He wasn’t afraid.
”Did you see an Avialae through here? Bat-winged, black hair?” The boy was quiet, his eyes darting between Florian, his captive wrist, and the rest of the Cistern that opened up below them. With his spare hand, Florian reached across himself into a pocket sewn deep into the interior of his coat, and retrieved a few gold avens. He displayed them in his palm to the boy, who spit on the ground.
“Hahseu.”
”Hahseu?”
“What, you new? It’s 16.”
Florian released the boy’s wrist. He had a very dim idea of what that meant, though he paid the little thief regardless. His gaze wandered up the entrance he stood in, and high, high at the top, carved into the stone, was ‘#13’.
His eyes followed to other entrances, other openings of the sewer. The dim light meant nothing to him, and he began the convoluted journey to the entrance of #16. More people congregated in front of this outlet than many of the others.
“What’s a man dressed like you doing down here?”
Florian turned, a woman dressed in her best, if her best budget was a handful of silver avens.
”Have you seen an Avialae? Wings like a bat?”
Another man nearby interjected, with an accent he did not recognize. “Sure did. Drunk as hell and trying to start fights.”
Florian nodded and started to walk past them, further into #16, until he felt the pressure if a knife at his back. It seemed he walked too slowly. “You don’t get to know that for free. I saw that gold you threw around.”
Desperation quickly turned to violence. Florian did not know who he was dealing with, but he had the gold to spare. He pulled out a few more avens and jangled them in his hand as he turned around. ”You shouldn’t threaten strange men,” he said, holding out the avens, ”They may not be so understanding as I am.”
Florian took a few steps backwards, and then he turned again, ignoring the whispers of the money hidden away in his pockets, of what could be taken if he was dead. They could not kill him.
--
He had grown so accustomed to the darkness of the waterways in the minutes he walked that the distant light of Hahseu surprised him. Little fires lit the shantytown that had been pieced together here in the dark, and Florian could feel the eyes on him as he entered. People seemed to be hiding, however, and it was not until he heard Adrian’s yelling that he knew why. A corner was turned and the Kathar was holding a wooden chair over an elven man with a sword. Florian could practically smell the soju that Adrian had consumed.
”Adrian.” Florian walked towards the duo, and Adrian dropped the chair next to the man in surprise at hearing his name, and the familiar voice, and the fact he had been found. ”Adrian, it’s time to come home.”
The Avialae turned to look at the Lysanrin who called for him, his face turned from anger to apology, and then back to anger again when he looked back at the elf. Anything he had intended to say to Florian was forgotten.
Adrian had his own sword materialized in a second. “I will kill you for that!”
The way the elf held his sword gave Florian the impression that he, too, knew how to use it. The draegir ran towards them as they circled each other, and found himself in the middle of the fight, though their swords bounced harmlessly off of the aetheric shields that formed from his raised arms. Florian looked at the two of them, a drop of blood leaking from his nose as he conjured the shields with no aether stored.
He looked at Adrian again. ”Adrian, it’s time to come home.”
He would not force Adrian to leave. But he did not want the Kathar to drunkenly kill a man over a perceived slight. Even if the elf knew how to handle himself around a blade, Florian knew that he did not know how to handle a Kathar that knew his way around a blade. Not a Kathar that had mastered the art of Reaving. Adrian recalled his sword with a grimace, and not just because the shield had begun to weaken its material presence.
Florian recalled the shields just for the elf to immediately point his sword at his chest. “You know this crazy man?”
Florian looked at the elf, his eyes black with anger. ”I can handle him. You can’t. Just leave it. He won’t be back.”
--
Florian stood below the exit out of the Middens, and looked up at Adrian after a long walk in silence. ”I should’ve expected you to be the troublemaker. You would have won. Did you really want to kill him?” He hadn’t asked what it had been about, and he didn’t want to know. It wouldn’t have changed anything.
“No.” The Avialae sighed. The walk had allowed him to sober up.
”I’d suggest staying away from the Soju.” Florian paused, and began climbing up the ladder, resuming when they had entered an alley in the Low City. ”Don’t completely forget yourself, Adrian. You are safe. You are welcome here. You don’t want that to change. Not for you or Marcel.”
Adrian stood next to him, his wings folded behind his back, but he was staring at the moon. “How did you find me?”
”I asked. You’re not subtle.”
They began to walk out of the alleyway, and through the Low City. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore. It’s exhausting.”
”I’m sure they’d let you join the Sky Guard--“
“I am not joining the Sky Guard. Not again. I do not want to dedicate myself and my time and my life just after I escaped that obligation.” Adrian sounded pained. Unlike Marcel, Adrian had relished his freedom. This outburst was not the first, and it wouldn’t be the last.
”Marcel was considering it.” Florian offered, though he was not completely invested in the convincing.
“I’m not Marcel!” He shouted, which drew looks that had otherwise ignored him.
”You need something to focus on, Adrian. You have too much time on your hands.”
“I do not have too much time on your hands.”
Florian laughed. ”You act like I did. For my entire life. When I had too much time on my hands, and too much anger, and too few opportunities...”
Adrian squinted, and leaned down to Florian to whisper. “And you ended up a god. What of me?”
”You have a chance now. To do what you want with your life. And you’ve chosen to waste it. Is that what you want?”
Adrian was silent, straightened back up and looking ahead.
”You don’t have to do what I tell you to, Adrian. But I may be an expert on the field of fighting when you do not have to fight, of anger when you do not have to be angry. If you want to fight someone, spar with Marcel. Spar with me. Spar with Aoren, or the Skyguard, or even Rickter. They may appreciate the practice. Rest when you need to rest. The world is yours, now, and you can do with it as you want, but don’t just... waste this opportunity, even if you weren’t expecting it.”