Ripple Effect - 3. Ch. 1 Part III

III

"This is ill advised."

"Yes. You have made your thoughts plain. I have heard, though I do not heed."

"Canaan wouldn't forgive me if I didn't try."

Irritating the way that name was thrown in his face, like a talisman to make him obey; Canaan might make the better leader, but Trick was never treated as an underling, "Canaan need not find out."

"And if the Firebug reported you to his master?"

"Then it would be best to know." But he hadn't, Trick was certain of it. And that was part of why he had come back, to know why.

He was in the bar again, Tallen the Firebug. He'd been easy to pick out of the throng, even before his loud thoughts gave away his identity: a strong bright spot in the dull crowd. He wasn't joining in the games tonight, still brooding and looking to get drunk to drown his sorrows; that mood shattered when the knight caught sight of him. Trick could almost feel the man's shock himself, stolen breath and elevated heart rate; Tallen hadn't expected to see him again, and now he didn't know what to think.

As an encouragement, Trick turned as best he could in the direction of that bright energy, making a half bow toward it before perching on his stool.

Jacender wasn't speaking any longer, though he radiated disapproval loud enough he may as well be. The man mastered that communication, they were good together. "Behave yourself. Remember, I want him to come. Make an order and take your time. No one lies in wait."

As he had know it would be, the one thing he had known in fact. Tallen wore his hatred of London like a gleaming red cape, a wonder it wasn't visible to all. And yet Lynk had said nothing of dissent in the ranks.

It wasn't the sole reason for the silence, though it may be related – Tallen wanted something from him, from them. He didn't know what, that thought was kept below the surface level, where retrieval was invasive, messy and not a thing he enjoyed (no, not now, not ever). Whatever it was, it must be important to inspire that desperate intensity, that black depression. He wanted to know what it was. And even that was only another part.

Tallen wasted no time in coming over, not bothering with the pretense of a drink he didn't want. His mind rippled with renewed hope, like a stone skipped across a pond. That was another part, that mind was a curious thing, such a serene feel to it for an assassin. Not from the outside, no, and Tallen was very conscious of the image he presented, his every word and action calculated. This was not uncommon in hostile territory, he knew that, knew dangerous men outside and in; there were always similarities, whatever thing inside that inclines one to choose and thrive in certain paths and not others, and there Tallen was curiously lacking.

"Your guard dog isn't going to bite me if I speak this time, is he?"

Trick kept his head forward and tried not to look too pleased, "Not if you keep a distance. Hello again, Firebug."

A pause, where he considered objecting to the nickname then decided against it. "Didn't think you'd be back."

"As you said, the ale is good." He'd developed a taste for it after many late nights working with Strife, though he still was not a good judge of quality or potency; Strife probably wouldn't be impressed.

Tallen confirmed, "Its not that good."

This time, Trick turned in his direction, an unnecessary move that was only for the benefit of the other person. "Have you been working on your lines?"

He wasn't fooling anyone, but he wasn't intending to. Tallen considered the words, the real reason behind them, what it meant for him and his chances of getting what he wants; Trick had hoped in all this for the walls to part and give him a glimpse of what lay underneath. No such luck, that mind was an armored vault. Must be very important.

"You could let me buy you a drink, practice a few?"

...apologies, but you are not the only one with something to protect. I go first. "Not today."

He waited to see if Tallen understood; so were several other people, on edge for the first sign of trouble. He'd mined the crowd for opinions of Tallen as well as London, the results were mixed. Tallen was a regular fixture here, gambled with them, never tattled whatever he saw, which made him one of them; but he had a temper, with those aetheric arts, there was a whole archive of rumors about him people believed in varying degrees. The reputation of a berserker made little sense on someone so tightly wound, but that was what they thought.

No eruption, Tallen caught the unspoken meaning; ripples slowed down, but that hope remained just below the water, "So...good ale, then?"

"Quite."

A hesitation, and Tallen slid a few inches closer, "Well, if you don't want my coin, maybe you'll take some advice. Tell that cheap asshole to serve you from under the bar. Don't let him give you any shit about it either, that's where the good stuff is."

Trick already knew that, of course, but he nodded anyway, "Thank you. That I shall."

It was morning again, so he sat at the table with his hands folded; London stood behind him, looking over last night's notes. It made him nervous, these moments, they felt like a test. He made his marks with a careful hand but worried they were somehow wrong, remembered incorrectly or placed in a jumbled order. London never complained, so it must be legible, one piece he hadn't lost.

Situation normal, as usual nothing changed.

A hand touched his shoulder, squeezing affectionately, "Good job, son." He allowed it, welcomed it in some small way. It had been so long since someone touched him. He missed it; who would've guessed.

"Was this all she said?"

No, as always there was more, much more. She'd been fishing for her dinner, she told him all about it.

("Is that some new fishing technique I don't know? Hoping maybe they'll just jump on in?")

But he knew it wasn't important, something that was only for him. There was a gesture for that, one that said it didn't matter. Two fingers twitched, started to lift, but his memory couldn't quite grasp it and the movement aborted, hand falling limp again.

London let out a long sigh, grip tightening on his shoulder. "All right. Keep at it then."

He would, of course, as always. He just wished he knew why

"You shouldn't have bothered."

what the point of it all was.

"Do you need to eat?"

He hadn't done so yet, so yes. He nodded.

Another sigh and the touch disappeared. "Very well. I'll be back." A folder dropped on the table, he listened to the footsteps walking away.

His own notes sat on top of the pile, his eyes wandered right to it: symbols that connect to sound that connect to words with definite meaning. It was still right, he could still do that right.

(for now...but one day...)

A spot of color below it, another page in the pile turned at an angle and peaking out. It was a still image, captured in aether and burned to the page; a fairly new technique, based on something from Veil, he thought. Dark skin, a bit of someone's arm, tattooed

(...no, aether burned)

in black and red, arcane symbols

(power)

attached to concepts

(regrowth)

with definite effects.

(red...wait...)

His fingers crept forward, touching the edge of the image, teasing it out of the stack. More symbols burned in black and red, dark hair and pale eyes, caught coming out of a cabin in the snow.

(pristine white as far as-)

(oh...so he is the Wolf)

(...he is still alive...)

The image was in his hands, held in a near crushing grip, staring this stranger in the eye

(if he's alive, then so is his-)

(-not over, nothing is-)

The folder was full of images, different people but the same cabin in the snow. He spread them out on the table, eyes searching, frantic, over each and every one, looking for...what, he didn't know, but something, something odd, something

(blue)

Straight lines and circles, both light and dark; harsh burns on a very young seeming face, more symbols with definite effect

(penetrate...dissolution...)

Dark glasses hid the gaze from view, but whoever took this knew there was something to see and tried their best to capture it. The narrow space where the glasses had slid down, seen from the side could just barely make out an elongated, discolored pupil

(burned as well)

(...both of them, together-)

Breath passed in and out, slow and steady, and a pulse pounded between his ears.

(close...so close...when did this-)

"Frost?"

He jumped to hear the sound, his name, pushing the table forward. Just London, of course it was, he hadn't heard his return. He searched the man's frozen face for anger, disapproval, strong emotions that he still knew on sight; there was none of it. What was that expression? He would've known it once, it had gotten so hard.

The tray of food was set down on the table, away from the spread papers; London looked, long and pointed, at the images he still held, half rumpled in his hands. Earth brown eyes rose again, meeting his own, questioning...

...caution? hope?

"Do you...do you – see, something?"

(...you can't win this, whatever it is...)

"Something significant? Something – familiar?"

(...Tallen can't, keep him away-)

"Anything at all? You can say it?"

There was nothing to say, even if he still knew how to speak. He bowed his head to escape those hopeful, judgmental eyes; he couldn't help, he had nothing to offer, he couldn't do anything.

Another long sigh, "Very well." That was disappointment, he knew it well and saw it often. That was London, patient and friendly, understanding, but with an undercurrent of omnipresent disappointment. He didn't know what he was doing to cause it, he didn't know what London wanted, what he was waiting for; he wished he did, so he could make it stop.

(...something? Do I see something?)

"Those – they were sent by a...correspondent," the table inched closer again, London took his customary seat on the other side, "Not who you speak with. Up in An'khte-har."

(...what do I see?)

Faces of strangers spread out before him, one after the other, leaving through the same cabin door, the only common thread between them.

"...you don't have to worry about it. This part isn't your job," a hand reached out, casting a shadow over the images, "Pass them up this way. We can eat."

...this way? Up this way – all up this-

(that's it)

Faces of people who did not know they were being watched, images captured in motion, heads bent forward, turned away. Most were seen in profile, ahead and to the side. All but one.

Him. The Wolf.

He was looking right at you.

From over his opponent's shoulder, he could see Four at the bar, shaking his head. Not looking at him, but he was always watching somehow, always knew.

This was not a great play, and unless the other man had less than shit, it was a loser for him. Normally he'd intimidate his way through, worked better than not, but Four had been shaking his head at him all night.

Tallen made like he was still considering his move, gaze on his odd new "friend" from over the top of his cards. His gloved hand lifted from the counter top, all but one long finger that tapped twice. One might think this a system they'd worked out, not something the other just started tonight. How he could be paying attention from that far away Tallen still didn't know, but he took the advice again anyway. It hadn't let him down yet; that meant something, right?

At the end of the round, having lost less than he might otherwise have, Tallen excused himself to the bar. He tossed opening lines around in his head; this was starting to feel like courting, or what he imagined courting would be if he were interested in it.

"Wow, you're getting really good at that."

"I've been practicing... I wanted to surprise you."

"You trying to be my good luck charm? Or maybe you want a place at the table?"

A smile, small but they were getting bigger, now showing a row of very perfect teeth, "I should not. I cheat."

"Really?"

"I am doing it right now."

"Maybe you should teach me your trick."

"Alas, it is not a thing that can be learned by another," Four's head tilted to the side, the aether light catching on the bright blue circle on his temple, making it shimmer, "That man knows your tell."

"I don't have a tell."

"You do."

"What?"

"You posture," he said, "You are aggressive when your hand is poor, calm when it is not."

Tallen was quiet; it was true, of course, but he hadn't thought anyone noticed the difference.

"Be glad. Not all think you such a monster."

Sometime in the last week of this odd dance, Tallen realized Four knew who he was. Nothing particular, Four avoided saying anything pointed as he did himself, but it was there. Not a surprise, everyone in the bar knew him all you had to do is ask; the surprise was that he was still coming, still engaging this whatever it was.

What was he waiting for? Did he want to see if Tallen would run and tell, lay a trap for him? How long before he understood it wasn't going to happen? How long before they could move past these short, very controlled interactions? Tallen wasn't getting much useful out of it, it was starting to make him him antsy. He couldn't imagine what Four was getting out of it, must be something if he kept the rules the same.

"Is that what you think?"

"It is what that asshole thinks. I have not made up my mind yet," another smile, "But I'm getting there."

Antsy, because he could see himself liking this kid. There was something about him, didn't know what, that put him at ease. It was not a state Tallen was used to being in, couldn't remember the last time he felt so-

"Please don't leave me alone in here, please?"

"Okay. I'll stay, I won't – won't let them make me leave."

-needed to get a handle on that, pin it down, before it got out of hand, before it could hurt him.

"So, what do you think my chances are for the rest of the night? You, with your super cheating skills?"

"Such skills do not see into the future. But to guess?" Four considered, "The man is a good player. Bet conservatively if you are not certain of victory. We would not wish to see you deprived of all funds. Never know when you might need it."

"Didn't know you were so interested in my purse." A pause, and, "Can I buy you a drink?"

"You ask that already today?"

"I'm betting conservatively. Just want to know if I should hold something back?"

The guard dog stood on Four's other side, arms crossed and seething. Four managed to look regretful, "Would not wish to deprive your friend of his opponent. He is eagerly awaiting your return."

"Yeah, I just bet he is," he snorted, "Maybe if I breathe fire in his face a few times, he'll change his mind about that."

Tallen had taken a few steps away when he heard Four's voice again, "I find it baffling, you know."

He turned back to find Four's contemplative gaze kind of on him. "This monster they all fear. I don't see him."

He thought it might be normal to find relief in a statement like that, all Tallen could feel was a sense of impending doom; like the beginning of a screw up he could neither avoid nor afford.

"Its only been a week. Stick around, you'll get your chance."

Trick got his chance two days later.

Those that hadn't fled the bar waited on the other side, almost patiently so; they've seen it before and they knew the storm will pass. No one tried to intervene, the victim wasn't anyone to them and even if they were the altruistic types, the random sparks of fire kept them at bay.

He and Jacender remained where they were; he with his head turned away and still sipping his drink, looking wholly unconcerned he was sure. Jacender had to be more blatant if he wanted to watch. "Fights like a wild animal."

"Aye." Interesting choice of words, it was one that stuck in Tallen's own mind, repeated like a mantra. It was an accurate assessment here.

"An assassin should have more skill."

"One would think." Unless it was a front, and London had other motivations, perhaps not known to his solider. Interesting.

He watched the other man's ego deflate until all his mind was pain and the certainty he was going to die. Melodramatic, he'd need a healer and a few days in bed; that hand will ache in the cold and rain, but there was no lasting damage. That was telling, too.

Tallen didn't need to be beckoned, he approached on his own, straight backed arrogant confidence, daring another to try it. On the outside; the inside was different matter.

That didn't take long, did it? Knew you were going to fuck it up, all you ever do-

"What was the point of that?"

"What?" it was not the expected response.

"Your point." Trick saw how it began, the man came in with designs on Tallen's whore friend, on being told she was occupied he'd modified his desires and made a second request. Nothing so unusual, Trick would've paid it little mind himself, and yet Tallen exploded like-

"I doubt you have never encountered such interest before."

Tallen bristled at that, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"That I am certain you are acquainted with a mirror." He was aware Tallen was disfigured, that the scars were considered ugly but his face was otherwise well made; it wasn't hard to find people in this bar alone that could be willing to look past it were that the only problem. Tallen was too touchy about it, too selectively blind; he didn't know why, every detail was locked up tight.

"What the fuck does it matter?" this posturing, like a knee jerk, he couldn't help it. It wasn't anger; it looked like anger, acted like anger, but wasn't.

"Because it seemed pointless."

A harsh laugh, "That's funny, coming from you."

Ah, a crack in the unspoken rules of their game; must be serious indeed. "Coming from me, there is always a point. Perhaps especially where none appears to be."

Fear. That's what it looked like: fear, panic.

"Haven't you heard? I'm a madman."

"A true madman would have killed him."

"Well, I've never been good at much."

"Except evasion," Trick felt the tension building around him, saw it like a red mist in the room; even the bystanders, pretending not to listen wondered if they were about to witness a second row. "You do not answer my question."

That explosion was slowly fanning to life again; something circling near the surface of those deep, deep waters. Something with sharp teeth, strangling tentacles. "I don't owe you shit."

"You want something from me, Firebug, you therefore owe what it takes."

Panic, definitely, struggling to break free, struggling to reign in.

"Does it matter?"

"Clearly, it does."

"To you. What, was he a fucking friend of yours? What do you care?'

He shrugged, "It is a curiosity, little more."

That was the wrong answer, dark waters swirled faster, "I'm not here to be a curiosity."

"Then why not follow him outside, pull him into an alley? You act publicly, Firebug, you must wish us all to think something."

Violent churning, he could almost see beneath the waves, "Fuck you."

Too close for Jacender, he stepped in between them again, hand on the hilt of his blade.

"Back off, scorch mark, I'll melt the other half of your face."

He couldn't win a fight, and he knew it but he couldn't stop himself, he was too far in to pull out. Trick would have to step in himself, swinging his boot against the counter, "Jacender, stand down."

Jacender was annoyed enough not to heed him; Jacender's patience had worn down to a fine point, a weapon ready to slash out. He pushed Tallen back.

Tallen's fist shot out, "Don't fucking touch me!"

The waves parted, but a moment.

Teeth and tentacles and-

(squeezing, burning, painfearagony)

He almost fell off the stool.

(blood on your hands, small hands, child's hands, their blood, mom dad sis, still there days later, never allowed to wash it off all that's left of them now, blood on the hands is theirs, blood on the clothes is yours-)

(mine)

a hand gripping the edge of the bar barely kept him upright

(one eye open, see the blade held in the fire, heating up turning orange, can't move can't move, too many hands too strong, fingers too well known brushed hair back, pulled skin taunt, so scared so scared, its going to hurt its going to hurt and there's nothing you can do-)

(nothing I can do)

aether flared out in defense, he had to pull it back under control, and quickly before he burned a handprint in the wood. Again.

(tried to run can't run, tried to walk can hardly walk, won't get far never get far, can't go for help not again, nice family now they're dead, saw it happen held in place saw it all, saw it after two whole days locked in a room with them, lined up against the wall accusing empty eyes staring, all your fault you did this dead because of you-)

(because of me, its my fault, alive because of me)

Jacender reacted fast, pulling his blade halfway out of its scabbard, taking a quick step toward-

"No! No, no, stop! Stand down, stand down!"

Attention zeroed in on him, the blade didn't retreat but it didn't advance either. Jacender spoke slowly, "Trick, I can't understand you."

Shit. What was he speaking? He wasn't sure.

(whistling)

(he used to whistle...)

"Calm down. Listen to my voice. Try again." a mantra Jacender had learned, needed to use every so often

(it let you know he was home, let you know where in the manor he was, when you couldn't see, so you could move away from it, hide away for a stolen moment of peace. He considered it a kindness. You could hear it grow in volume and know he was on his way, plenty of time to get good and scared before blue silk shoes stepped into view.)

repeating them over and over, so Trick could hear them, find the words in his mind, find their compatriots, speak so he could be understood.

(the whistling did not have to sound from the room he was in, and sometimes you would move away, turn a corner and there he would be, poisonous eyes and a cold little smile. And it would be a bad night)

"Put it away. I am well."

"You're not."

"There is no blame to be had."

Jacender considered it, and allowed the blade to fall back in its scabbard; only a few inches of metal had been exposed, not too late to walk away.

Trick's attention shifted.

Tallen was a smoldering ball of rage, the normally placid pond waters at a boil – he knew now, and Tallen knew he knew. Of course, he lived in fear of this moment, everything he was, everything he did was to obscure and protect. There was something there, Trick had seen that immediately, but he hadn't guessed; he should've known.

...you always miss what is most familiar.

("You don't want? Don't want? You are what I make you, want what I tell you. Are you telling me there is a flaw in my design? I can fix that. One little tweak, right here, right here. You will want. You will beg me, on your knees beg me, please master, please, please let me help you. Please, master, it feels so good when I help you.")

He expected disgust or pity, both as unwelcome as a punch in the face. Tallen would strike out at the first sign of either, no matter what he still needed, he'd blow it up now and regret it forever, it wouldn't be the first time.

Trick slid off the stool, standing in a mess of spilled beer, shining sticky on his boots, soaking the hem of his skirt. He'd held on to his now empty mug, didn't look like it had fused to his hand, but he wasn't certain until he placed it on the counter and successfully let go. He felt Tallen watching him, careful and considering, the heat draining out of him the longer he looked and saw.

"You made me spill my drink," Trick pushed the mug down the counter toward him, "Don't just fucking stand there. Buy me another."