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ＢＩＡＳalso posted on my tumblr (look in the tags for extra author comments I guess)
The day has been long and tiring, but you’ve found one of the things that you’ve been searching for.
Knowing who you are brings a strange comfort to you, a warmth in your body pulsing in time with the glowing sigil pressed into your forehead. The Wanderer – now civil since the Assassin put away her knife — had looked at you with an expression of warmth that you hadn’t understood (but were still overwhelmed by), eyes peering at you from underneath the shadow of his paddy hat. The Sage, he had called you. The title had struck some chord within you, and your body had responded to the title as naturally as if it was your own name. You were meant to help people.
For a moment, circled around the glimmering fire with the night sky stretched above you and your companions, you had felt like you belonged.
Your companions chatter around you, joking and eating together around the bonfire you’ve made. The only one who sits apart is the Thief, mask dragged down to his neck to show off his tattoos, two black scratches inked growing on either side of his jaw. It’s clear to tell from his expression that he has no interest in whatever the others are talking about, and you are aware of his eyes trained on you as you eat and listen and grin. Your eyes don’t meet his, but you are certain he knows you have noticed him.
The others finish eating, and the plates are slowly piling up as everyone talks still. You don’t hear his footsteps – just see the empty space in the corner of your eye filled with a body that you know can’t be anyone else’s. His stands at your side with his hands shoved in the pockets of his pants, eyes peering down at you and a crooked uplift in the right corner of his mouth. It takes you a moment to notice the silence that has fallen.
“Walk with me,” He all but orders, and the agreement is already in the way your hands brace themselves against the earth and the way your stomach lurches. You want to, you really do, but you think of your title and the dangerous effects of showing your bias so easily.
The prince is watching you both with furrowed eyebrows, white-gloved hand clutched over a chain that glints gold in the firelight. He’s noticeable even through the flames of the fire, sitting perched on a large stone with his boots primly crossed at the ankles even as the rest of you sit scattered on logs and the ground. You vaguely realize that everyone is watching, now.
“It’s late.” The Prince begins, as you’ve predicted, “Besides, the Sage has a big day in front of them.”
The Thief snarls at him, but doesn’t say anything as he whips his head towards you. Your fingers dig nervously into the barren dirt, and the comfort that was previously thrumming in your body is replaced with wariness. You can’t be biased.
“Well, it is late-“ You begin, feebly, and the Thief growls before turning on his heel, hands clenched as he stalks off in a random direction. You put your hands back against the earth without really realizing it, pushing yourself off the ground quickly but not fast enough to catch him before he leaves.
“Wait—“ You yell, but he’s already gone. Guilt seeps into your stomach and you drum your fingers on your thighs, still standing.
You don’t even last five minutes.
“He shouldn’t be out there alone—“ Is your feeble excuse, not listening even as Prince shouts your name as you rush away.
You stumble out into air untouched by the fire’s smoke, and you look around hastily in your search for the Thief. You know all too well that it’s dangerous out here, and your head swivels furiously to search your surroundings until they locate him. He’s leaning against a tree, watching you with slate gray eyes that seem unnaturally luminous to you – always have, really –
“I was scared,” You blurt out without thinking, “That you would leave and get hurt.” You’re not sure if it’s the truth or a feeble attempt at hiding the way you favor the Thief above the others. Perhaps a bit of both, you think.
You expect a snarky reply or a scoff or a raise of an eyebrow, but the Thief’s expression looks unreadable as ever. You’re surprised, though you’re not sure whether you should be pleasantly so – it’s impossible to tell what he’s thinking.
“Nothing came out.” He says instead, and you wonder if he’s acknowledged your attempt or is just trying to reassure you. He continues to look at you, silently. You realize with a start that he’s been waiting for you. As if the Thief detects the recognition in your eyes he ducks his head down to conceal the smile that grows on his face, and you find yourself undeniably flustered.
He turns to go, silently, feet deliberately crunching the gravel below them when you’re fully aware he can walk without making a sound.
Without a word, you follow.
 Siyaahi · Tue Feb 04, 2014 @ 02:37am · 0 Comments |
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