Day 2:
"Hey! Freakshow!" The yell from around the
corner was followed by a burst of unfriendly laughter and several more
yells of "Hey!" "Freakshow!" "Hey!". The sound echoed off the mountains,
as if a hundred soldiers were yelling instead of just five or six.
Think they can hear you in Lacour? They
can sure hear you all over the front line. Face expressionless, Dias
listened to the distant yells and jibes for a moment longer before giving
in to his curiosity and strolling over closer. As he turned the corner,
he spotted the source of the noise: one of Rena's strange friends, the
brown-haired kid with the dragons on his back -- whatever his name was
-- was surrounded by a clot of jeering soldiers. They weren't shoving him
around yet, but they were getting close to it.
The kid's back was to Dias, but his voice
carried clearly through the ruckus, slightly higher in pitch and just barely
controlled. "Please, don't. This isn't helping anything. Please, leave
me alone, I don't..." The two dragons on his back -- how they got there
Dias would love to know -- were whipping their heads around, fangs
bared, trying to keep an eye on all the soldiers at once.
The guy in front reached out and jabbed the
kid's chest with one outstretched finger. The kid's hands looped up protectively,
hovering uselessly in front of his chest. "Shut up, freakshow. Where'd
you pick up your little buddies anyway, the circus?" Another burst of laughter
from the soldiers, who pressed in closer even as the kid's voice spiraled
just a little higher and he wailed, again, "Please, don't! They need us
all
here... leave me alone! Please don't make me..." His hands reluctantly
dropped away from his chest, to the hilts of his swords, jutting from the
small of his back.
With an inaudible sigh, Dias strolled over
to join the little crowd. None of the soldiers noticed him coming, focused
on the kid as they were; without stopping, Dias dropped his hand on the
shoulder of the nearest one, spun him around, and laid him out flat with
a fist to the jaw.
He fell unconscious at the others' feet, and
the jeers cut off with a sudden finality. Eyes wide, the soldiers backed
off, even as the kid spun around to face his savior; Dias, one soldier
murmured to another. Stories ran wild around the front line about the things
that Dias had done to soldiers that had crossed him. Mostly they were just
that, stories, but Dias had never been one to deny a false rumor that served
to protect his privacy.
"Back the fuck off," Dias said, calmly, almost
offhandedly.
The ringleader, with one last gasp of bravado,
said, "This-this isn't any of your business!"
Dias eyed him silently until he subsided,
face going paper-white. "It's my business now." Dias paused, his face completely
expressionless, waiting for the import of that statement to sink in. "Go
away. Don't bother the kid again."
For just a moment, no one moved. Then with
the faintest sigh Dias let his hand fall to the hilt of his sword, and
the stalemate was broken; a couple of the other soldiers grabbed the unconscious
one by the arms and they fled in a pack, dragging their friend behind them.
The kid mumbled out something that was half
apology and half thanks, pushing one hand through his hair. Dias immediately
rounded on him. "Don't thank me. I'm not going to save your ass again."
The kid -- no, not a kid, Dias silently corrected himself, he's older than
I thought -- flushed bright red at the casual profanity (or perhaps it
was the rebuke), and Dias just crossed his arms and gave him a medium-stern
glare and waited for him to fold. And for a moment or two, it certainly
looked like he would, unable to look anywhere near Dias, face brilliant
red. Finally, relenting just a little, Dias added, "... what's your name
again?"
"I... I, um... Ashton..."
"Right. Ashton. You are too fucking nice for
your own good. Don't let them start shit like that."
Ashton swallowed, staring approximately at
the toes of Dias' boots. "I... I... I tried to make them stop! I,
I gave them every chance I could to... to stop... we're so short of soldiers
already, I didn't want to hurt them..."
"Next time, just hit one of them. You're
not their goddamn freakshow."
And here Dias paused, waiting to see what
Ashton had to say for himself. Ashton opened and closed his mouth several
times, searching for words; finally, with a sigh and a little humorless
laugh, he said, "...but I, I am."
Dias, who had been expecting either 'I will'
or 'I can't', paused, momentarily at a loss. His face remained expressionless
with an effort, an effort that he had to redouble just a moment later:
very seriously, eyes earnest on Dias' as if imploring him to believe
the insult, Ashton spread his arms wide and let blood-red Crests explode
into existence just under his skin, wrapping around his bare forearms and
throat. Crests burning on his skin, dragons arching up from his shoulders,
face and voice suddenly almost inhumanly calm and remote, Ashton repeated,
"I am a freakshow. I know it. They know it. You know it. I hate
it, but it's true."
Don't say shit like that, Dias
thought but didn't say, just barely managing to restrain himself from staring
at the Crests that crawled just under Ashton's skin. Still so calm, Ashton
let his arms drop, the Crests beginning to fade again. "I promise I'll
defend myself if they try again. But I don't think they will. So thank
you. Thank you for your help."
Finally, the last of the Crests vanished,
and so did that unnerving calm, ebbing out of his eyes like water. Ashton's
eyes immediately dropped to the toes of Dias' boots again. He flushed pink,
stammering, "Please, um, please excuse me, I need to be on, on watch...
um... thank you again..." And with a vague half-wave in Dias' direction
he clattered off as fast as he could, one of the dragons -- the red one
-- craning around to watch Dias distrustfully until Ashton rounded the
corner and vanished.
What the fuck? thought Dias.
Day 4:
The clang and crash of fighting echoed all
along the winding wall. Behind them, Lacour; before them, a line of monstrosities
three deep. Dias' sword bit deep into the side of a winged monstrosity,
which shrieked and fell, its claws raking along the blade of Dias' sword
in a song of sparks and screeches. And suddenly, that was all; the line
of demons was retreating once more into the distance, only a few wounded
stragglers remaining behind.
Shaking his bangs irritably out of his eyes,
Dias swiped the sweat from his forehead and sheathed his sword. All around
him those other soldiers who were still standing were doing the same. Only
a few pockets of fighting still swirled here and there: a gang of soldiers
surrounded a screaming clawing demoness with a broken wing, another pack
was busy throwing dead and dying demons over the wall to crash into the
forest below... and thirty feet away a wiry brown shape like a bundle of
poorly-tied sticks was swinging desperately at a slender black-clad shape
surrounded by a blur of silver: Ashton.
There was a cry of "Ashton!" and swift familiar
footsteps scuffed lightly up behind Dias, heading towards Ashton and the
demon: Rena. Dias reached out one arm, effectively blocking her path. "Don't
bother. He's got it," Dias said, eyes locked on the battle.
"But he's alone..." Rena's voice trailed
off. It was obvious that Dias wasn't listening to her any more.
Thirty feet away Ashton pressed home his attack
with a speed that was almost inhuman, swords sweeping forward in precise
deadly arcs, even as the dragons snarled and snapped and spat gobbets of
fire and ice at the demon's face. The stick-demon reeled backwards, long
slashes of blackish ichor weeping from his chest and arms, burns and bruises
blooming on its brownish skin. Faced with so many attacks at once, it could
not possibly protect itself against them all.
One clawlike arm looped out in a last, desperate
attack; a pair of crossed swords met the claw and threw it back, and the
demon stumbled, arms flung wide, defenses penetrated. Without pausing or
even slowing, Ashton threw himself upward, effortlessly airborne,
almost seeming to fly as his swords slashed forward one last time. The
demon clutched at its neatly slashed throat and stumbled backwards, gargling
out some sentence in its native tongue. And then, it fell.
Landing lightly, Ashton leaped upright and
his swords instantly snapped out to true for just a moment before Ashton
finally lowered his guard, dropping momentarily into an oddly jaunty victory
pose before relaxing. His swords danced practiced circles in his fingers
as he cleaned blood and ichor off the blades with a swift snap and flick
of his wrists; Dias made some sort of noncommittal noise in the back of
his throat and turned away, scanning the horizon.
And then it was truly over, and soldiers and
medics alike turned to the business of caring for the wounded and mourning
for the dead. A familiar uncomfortable tingling sensation in his arm caught
Dias' attention; Rena had his arm in both glowing hands, healing a slash
that he barely remembered getting. "Rena..."
Rena looked up, eyes wide and hopeful. "Yes?"
There are other soldiers who need your
help a hell of a lot more than I do, Dias thought, but he bit the thought
back before it could escape. Instead he studied Rena's face, his own face
expressionless save for the faintest thoughtful look in his eyes. "Where
did you pick him up, anyway?"
"Ashton?"
"Yeah. What's his story?"
Day 7:
Ashton sprawled back against the wall, his
head falling forward against his chest and his eyes closing almost against
his will. His elbows rested on his upraised knees, fingers still loosely
closed about the grips of his swords; he was just too damn tired to put
them away. Lank greasy locks of brown hair fell about his face, reeking
of sweat and blood. They all stank; no one had time to bathe any more.
Or to eat, really, or catch more than a couple of hours of sleep. Above
him, the dragons nosed quietly at each other, grumbling over each other's
wounds and making little reassuring noises, and Ashton was too tired to
do much else besides listen and breathe for several minutes. Finally, shifting
irritably, Ashton sheathed his swords and settled back against the wall,
hoping to get a few minutes of sleep before they attacked again.
It was, apparently, not to be. The toe of
a boot nudged Ashton's foot. "Hey."
After a moment, Ashton roused himself enough
to look up, shoving one hand through his hair. Dias stood in front of him,
his own filthy blue hair shoved back behind his ears; as Ashton looked
up, Dias hunkered down in front of him, resting his crossed arms on his
knees. "You shouldn't sleep out here. You'll get stepped on."
"Where else am I supposed to sleep?"
The irritable outburst wasn't quite a wail. "The barracks are filled
with the wounded, they need beds more than I do..."
"... yeah. I guess so." Dias paused, studying
the exhausted Ashton. After a moment, he added, "... you hungry?"
"What?" Ashton blinked at Dias, his brain
completely failing to comprehend the non sequitur for a few moments. "...
yeah, I, I am... but the kitchen ran out of everything but rice and, and
water yesterday, and I'm not that desperate..."
Dias glanced back over his shoulder at the
wall, then shrugged and turned his attention back to Ashton. "Think we've
got an hour or two before they attack again." And with that, Dias sat down
next to Ashton, leaning back against the wall and shoving his hair back
out of his face again. One hand slid into his beltpouch, eventually coming
out with a small paper-wrapped bundle that proved to contain a generous
handful of jerked meat. Scooping off about half the meat, Dias handed the
rest of the bundle to Ashton. "Here."
"... thank you!" Ashton's hands closed
convulsively on the windfall for a moment before he tore into it, feeding
several smallish hunks to the dragons before ripping off a mouthful for
himself. The meat had a strange, gamey, unfamiliar taste under the spices;
Ashton was convinced that it was the most wonderful thing he'd ever tasted.
"This is really good... what, um, what kind of meat is it? It's not beef..."
"... squirrel." Dias plowed through his meal
rapidly, hunks of meat vanishing at an astonishing rate. Popping the last
piece of meat into his mouth, Dias cleaned his fingers on his pants, then
settled back against the wall next to Ashton, making a pretense of closing
his eyes. "They're easy to trap. Not much meat on 'em, but it dries fast."
"It, it's really good... did, um, did you
make this yourself?" Ashton fed the dragons and himself, unaware that Dias
was watching him out of the corner of his eyes. One largish piece for the
red one, one equally large piece for the blue one, one smaller piece for
Ashton; he treats his pets better than he treats himself, Dias mused,
watching the dragons delicately nip morsels from Ashton's fingers. And
then the red one touched its forehead briefly to Ashton's, and Ashton smiled,
and Dias corrected himself: not pets. Friends.
Finally, shaking his head slightly, Dias said,
"Yeah."
"Wow... that's... really neat... I, I can
cook pretty well, but I don't really know the first thing about... trapping..."
Ashton flushed slightly and stopped babbling, crumpling the empty paper
in his gloved hands. "...thank you again..."
"Sure." A long dirty lock of Dias' hair slipped
out from behind his ear and he shoved it back, growling faintly under his
breath. As his hand dropped back to his side he noticed that Ashton was
watching him, and he silently steeled himself for the usual idiotic why
don't you cut it? Isn't long hair a bad idea for a warrior? that he'd
heard so many times before.
But what Ashton actually said, so very casually,
was, "Um... if, if you want I can braid your hair back for you... it won't,
um, won't keep your bangs out of your eyes but it'll keep the longer pieces
under control..." Casual tone or not, there was an odd sense of desperation
sparking in his eyes; what the fuck? Dias thought, not for the first
time.
Dias eyed Ashton in silence for so long that
Ashton dropped his eyes and started to stammer an apology. Dias cut him
off. Quit apologizing to me. "... I don't have anything to tie it
with."
"Oh, I, I can..." Ashton stopped babbling
and grabbed for his own beltpouch, coming up with a length of ribbon; black
ribbon, of course. "I, I have extra... please, it's no trouble, it's the
least I can do, I... I..." Once again Ashton babbled himself into tongue-tied
silence and turned red, the length of black ribbon wound loosely around
his fingers.
Eventually, shrugging a little, Dias said,
"... why not." He turned around, putting his back to Ashton -- ignoring
the voice in the back of his head which shrilled not safe! Not safe!
He has a blade! -- and shoved his hair back over his shoulders.
He could hear Ashton shifting behind him, and the faintest slither of leather
as Ashton tugged off his gloves... then gentle hands closed gingerly on
his hair, and Dias automatically tensed, fighting down the reflex only
with an effort. He isn't going to attack me, goddammit.
Behind him, oblivious, Ashton raked his fingers
through the long blue strands over and over as if hypnotized, working out
a few tangles as gently as he could. Eventually, Dias' hair lay down his
back like a smooth spill of water, straight and smooth. Ashton's hands
were shaking, just a little, as he divided it into three parts, gingerly
weaving Dias' hair into a loose neat braid; Dias sat ramrod-straight in
front of him, fingers knotted tightly in the fabric of his pants where
Ashton couldn't see them, nerves tingling with adrenalin. See? He isn't
attacking. He isn't hurting me at all. Dammit, relax.
All too soon -- not soon enough -- Ashton
reached the end of the braid. One hand wrapped around it, holding it fastened,
and the other hand groped for the ribbon, knotting it tightly about the
end of the braid. The heavy braid thumped gently against Dias' spine, complete...
then Ashton gingerly patted Dias on the shoulder. The touch was casual
and meant to be inoffensive, but Dias drew away from it -- not quite a
flinch, it was too controlled for that -- as if it had been a blow. Ashton
immediately yanked his hand away, biting back an apology, and mumbled,
"... there, that, um, that ought to hold it..."
With an almost inaudible sigh Dias relaxed
-- slightly -- putting his back against the wall once more and feeling
much
safer once he'd done so. "... thanks." He glanced at Ashton out of the
corner of his eyes again: Ashton was tugging his gloves back on, his face
bright pink, carefully not looking anywhere near Dias. Absently Dias reached
behind him, tugging his braid forward over his shoulder and catching one
end of the ribbon idly between two fingers. "... I'll get this back to
you later."
"N-no, um, that's okay, you can, um, you can
keep it... I, um, please excuse me, I have to, to go..." Ashton more or
less leaped to his feet, clattering away down the hallway before Dias could
stand up, or say goodbye, or anything. Both dragons watched Dias
until Ashton rounded the corner, reptilian eyes inscrutable in scaled faces.
Not for the last time, Dias thought, what
the fuck?
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