“Hey, you. You’re finally awake.” The voice was raucous – as raucous as they come.
“Not again…” Evens mumbled tiredly yet irately; his head was ringing like a bell falling down a flight of stairs.
“You were trying to–” The voice was timorous – as timorous as they come.
“How does this keep happening to me!?” Evens gouged his tired eyes open and tackled the meddlesome duo, hurting his own aching body in the process. His body was littered with hundreds of faded scars, yet the pain did not come from a single one of them. “Please tell me I’m still dreaming,” he could have sworn that he had been in this same scenario once before. His vision had not wholly recovered yet, the sights before him still seemed slightly blurry. His breathing was hampered and shallow beneath the hooded robe that was lent to him, though he could somewhat smell the scent of intense perfumes and smokes he had never huffed in before, bizarre spices he had never tasted before, and strong boozes he had never drank before. So this is the City of Colours? Not as bright as I thought… Evens moped – he had always wanted to leave Screwpile and visit Dreamcity, yet now that he was here, he was hardly in a state to relish in the city’s pleasures and decadences.
The intense stares from both prim and crass bystanders at their party of three dishevelled lads and a ghostly man sent a chilling sensation down Evens’s spine. There were far more ecliants and steelborns in Dreamcity than there were in Screwpile, yet they still carried the same nasty glares as the ones back home.
Scrapper snuggling by his feet was the only comfort to be found amidst this bleak state – though his cold and sharp metal hide that was hidden beneath a piece of cloth did remind him of some unpleasant memories regarding a certain ape. Evens could still not believe that the mutt made the trip to him, all the way from the Bottom Barrel – he would make sure to think twice when next he scolds Scrapper for being hungry and lazy all the time.
They have been walking aimlessly since they arrived at Dreamcity early in the morn. That man, Callen, and the woman, Stelie, just dropped them at the city gate and then fled into the hordes of people swarming the colourful streets.
“Come on to our bar! Finest drinks in all of Nix for you fine lads!” a haughty barman shouted at their faces from across the street while dangling bottles of wine between his fingers.
“Why don’t you pretty boys pay a visit to our house?” a skimpy wench casted her lustful lure from the other side of the thoroughfare.
“Buy some magical herbs for your friend here. The legendary adventurer, Crusoe Bumson himself harvested these from the Wasteland! It doesn’t get better than this!” a shady conman presented his faulty wares amidst the rowdy juncture.
“Excuse me, gents. Do you have a moment to talk about our Lord and Saviour, the Benevolent Earthmother, Fýsi? The dark days are coming; do not regret it by staking your lives on these other false gods!” an overly eager preacher orated the good words of his obscure and foreign faith to any passer-by.
“One gold ark bid for this fine specimen of a human – great for breeding and labour alike. Going once. Going twice. And sold to the man in the black hood!” a slave auction concluded in broad daylight despite the act having been condemned and outlawed.
“Out of my way, filthy vermin,” a man wearing an animal mask and luxurious garments cursed at any pitiable people who dared to cross his sight.
“Please beware when you lurk about, folks. There have been several cases of kidnapping in the past few weeks. Potential slavers. If you have any information of worth, please report it to your nearest watchdroid station immediately,” a stationed watcher pleaded to the people whom he had to protect, yet none seemed to pay any heed to him.
“The Firstkind is coming! The Firstkind is coming! The Sentinels’ defeat has sparked their return! Buy the latest issue of the Daily Centum to keep up to date!” a newsboy swung handfuls of newspapers around the square.
“We didn’t expect for you to arrive in this fashion. Please follow us quietly.” Another watchdroid received several guests cladded in dark cloaks and escorted them to their station.
Will you all shut up? Evens rubbed his aching, dark head. He couldn’t walk a single step without hearing endless babbles, further worsening his daze – safe to say that the fascination he once had with the City of Colours has been wholly shattered.
“Not exactly what you were hoping for, patch-lad?” Blueyard popped up out of nowhere. With each hand, he plucked two ends of his long silver hair and swung them in loops as if he were a disturbed child. If that was his attempt to cheer Evens up, then it was by far the worst attempt that Evens had witnessed.
“Please stop,” Evens mumbled, he hardly had any energy left to snarl. His legs felt like they were glasses readied to be crumbled to hundreds of pieces – and him not knowing where they were going was surely not helping.
“C’mon. Ya’ know how hard we had to struggle to keep ya’ alive? Gratitude is unneeded, but at least act like ya’ alive.” Blueyard admonished Evens, and rarely enough, Evens could not refute it.
“Mister Callen and Miss Stelie were kind enough to receive us and shelter you – so please do not try to offend them.” Rupert worded eloquently, yet it somehow stung worse than the words of Blueyard.
Scrapper barked and clawed at his heels as if to reprimand Evens as well.
You damn traitorous mutt, Evens clicked his tongue, but he could never bring himself to scold Scrapper no matter how prickly it was for the dog to keep scrabbling his feet. “Alright, my bad, my bad.” Evens sighed softly, even a light gesture like that pained his chest. “Where are we going anyway?” asked Evens, he did not know how much longer he could keep his eyes and mind awake – if not for the rumbustious clamour from the City of Colours flooding into his ears, he would have surely collapsed by now.
“We are supposed to meet up with them at a Love Machines brothel – right about here,” Rupert showed Evens a tattered map with some shoddy lines and drawings that even a toddler could have drawn better.
Evens shrugged the map aside, not as though he’d have known where the marked locations were anyway. “Lead the way then,” he panted roughly from just sluggishly walking.
“I’m trying here,” Rupert scratched his dark hair as he looked around in all directions with squinting eyes – perhaps letting a cripple guide the way wasn’t the best idea.
“Do you even know where we’re going?” asked Evens with judging eyes.
“Of course I do. I come here all the time– Of course I don’t!” Rupert grunted, it was rare to see him shatter his composed front. “But better me than any of you three dimwits.” He rudely remarked, yet also truthfully. Unlike Screwpile, houses and shops are erected here as many as there were stones by a riverbank, so many that Evens doubted he could discern one building or street to another.
“Why are we even wandering the streets alone anyway? Terribly rude of them to make their guests having to blindingly seek out their home,” sighed Owl.
“We’re not their guests, nor do they seem to have the privilege to receive any guests right now. As far as I’m concerned, we’re their prisoners until any further signs – and you don’t treat prisoners with usual customaries.” Rupert explained while still looking at the map and limping forward with his one wooden leg.
“If they’re bold enough to let their prisoners roam free without chains, then why don’t we just bolt for it? Aren’t they afraid that we may rat them out to the watchdroids or the Sentinels?” asked Owl exasperatedly. “Nothing about this seems right. For all we know, it could be a trap.” The senseless Owl spoke some senses to the sensible Rupert.
“After how hard we had to beg them to save Evens, and now you just want to walk?” asked Rupert.
“I thought he was gonna’ croak if we didn’t, but he seems fine enough for us to head back to Screwpile now.”
What part of me seems fine to you? Evens mumbled silently, he didn’t have any strength left to engage in another argument with Owl.
“You ought to listen to stick-kid, egg-boy.” Blueyard joined in the dispute. “No doubt that the Heart Corp is already aware that most of the escaped convicts came from Screwpile. I’ve already told ya’ – but do ya’ think that wouldn’t be the first place they’d check after that incident?”
Owlem dodged his eyes aside without offering an answer while Rupert smirked conceitedly as if it was his victory.
“The chance of them rounding you boys back into shackles is higher than ya’ think.” It was a piece of rather fine advice for a madman such as Blueyard. “I don’t know about you, but I’d much rather be these strangers’ prisoner than the Centum’s prisoner again. Unless they give me reasons to suggest otherwise.” His tone calmed ever so faintly as he uttered those words.
With no rebuttals to make, Owl merely grinded his teeth and turned back to Rupert. “What about you then, Peg? Don’t ya’ wanna’ return to Ruby? After countless long nights having to hear you weep and moan about being away from your dear sister – ya’ would just abandon her now?”
“Did you not hear a single thing that Blueyard just said? If I were to go back now, it wouldn’t just be my wrists that they’d chain, but also whoever would shelter me,” Rupert grumbled. “And I’d die ten times over before I let them touch even a single strand of hair on Ruby’s head.” The usually mellow Rupert bellowed, wrathful but also mournful, as if he had hidden baggage to carry. His outburst shocked even the noisy locals, though only for a slight moment before they returned to their hectic routine.
“Stop making excuses! Ya’ actually think you’re that important? The Sentinels won’t give two shits about you and your sister!” Owl yelled, angry and senselessly.
Rupert did not bother to respond and returned to his navigating duty, though the map in his hands had crumpled slightly due to his grip.
“Stop worrying so much, egg-boy,” Blueyard slapped Owl’s bald head with his skinny and pale palm. “We’re going on an adventure here – to meet heroes from legends and to heal our dear friend. Isn’t it exciting? Even if it turns out to be a trap – what’s a journey without some setbacks, right?” he grinned like an excited toddler, a rather creepy and lanky toddler.
“Sure, whatever. Just don’t blame me if anything goes wrong.” Owl mumbled, though his brooding quickly ended when his blue eyes lit up, and he glanced back to Blueyard. “Say, why do you still follow us, Blueyard? You don’t really have any reason to be here with us anymore, right?”
As if he had just been struck an arrow to the heart, Blueyard clung his fingers to his chest as he theatrically fell down to his knees. “O’ you wound me, boy. After our bond was forged in that forsaken wagon over many moons – I have every reason to be here with you all. With Ark bearing witness to my oath, I’ll go as far as to say that we are practically brothers now.”
Owl struggled to muster even a pity smile at the embarrassing act. “I dunno’ if I’d go that far. You barely even talked back then–”
“How could you even say that? And after I sacrificed myself to save you as well? How heartless could you be?” As if he was struck by another arrow, Blueyard fell down even lower.
“Now that you mentioned it, how did you even survive–”
“By not being a cruel scoundrel like you who denies a sad man’s offer of friendship,” Blueyard jumped up to his feet and poked his finger at Owl’s face in anger, or at least his own brand of anger.
“Alright, alright. For the love of Ark, do whatever you want. I was just asking. Why is everyone so mean to me?” Owl sulked, with his shoulders drooped and buttocks puffed out.
Having subdued the cruel monster in his mind that was Owlem, Blueyard merely smiled from ear to ear and whistled away to strange melodies that Evens had never heard before.
“Odd fella, he is. How did we ever even get tangled up with him? I don’t believe we have even asked why he was held by the Sentinels.” Owl whispered to Evens’s ears, having ended his short-lived brooding yet still not wanting to provoke Blueyard again.
“For a man like him – I feel even the strangest of crimes would not do him justice.” Evens sighed, his head further ached from just thinking about who that man could be.
“So it’d seem,” murmured Owl tiredly, even his big mouth could get tired, it’d seem. “I’m still not too keen on this. I just hope those two don’t get us into any trouble. Don’t ya’ agree?”
“I’m fine with whatever…” Evens mumbled, his breath shortening with each step.
Scrapper rubbed his hard dome to Evens’s shin – perhaps he agreed with Evens as well. Yet his soft caress soon turned wilder and faster until the mutt was spinning his whole body around like a wheel, all while squirming like a common pup.
“Easy, boy.” Despite how painful it was for him to move his limbs any further than he needed to, Evens bent down low. “What’s gotten’ into you?” he patted the wayward dog’s head, yet even that did not calm his wobbling. Is he still hurting from back then? Evens glanced at his plated torso that was pierced by that despicable Sentinel, though luckily, it was bandaged over with a piece of cloth.
As if the cloth was strangling him, Scrapper desperately trundled about until the rag was unloosed from his grey body – and with it, a slip of crumpled parchment, too, fell out of the cloth’s embrace.
What is this? Evens picked up the piece of paper, it was rather murky and wrinkly, perhaps from the rain. There were words scribbled along the parchment’s surface – and this graceful handwriting could have only come from one person that Evens knew.
“I hope this letter someway finds you, my dearest son,
If you’re reading this, then it would mean that Scrapper has accomplished his duty splendidly. You were right to adopt such a gifted hound.
I could only hope that no harm has befallen you.
I do not know if my creator has fashioned me in a manner that allows me to feel it – but my heart aches from not being able to be by your side.
I’ve heard from Foreman Chin that it is not rare for some lucky prisoners to escape from the Heart Sentinel’s captive.
So if by some miracle of Ark, you’ve been freed from their chains – do not return to the Bottom Barrel.
Should you return, I’ll always welcome you, my son – but nothing else will await you here.
As far as I can remember, you have always dreamed of sailing the unknown seas and crafting relics of fables. Though that dream may have dwindled as you’ve grown older – that shine in your eyes has never faded away, no matter how hard you try to dim it.
If it’s freedom that you seek, then seek it in a place far away from here – a place where your dreams could come true.
With undying love,
–Your Mother”
The letter concluded, with few dried spots at the end of the parchment, as if dewdrops have befell upon it at one point in time – though the dried paper was soon dampened once more with new pouring droplets.
“Stop deciding things on your own, old hag…” Evens struggled to keep reading the letter past his glossy eyes. He then neatly folded the parchment and put it into his robe’s pocket. “As if I’d listen to you,” he had always been the prodigal son, but his defiance could perhaps wait until after he’s healed. This detour better be worth it… With what little strength he had left in his legs, Evens further sped up, only to barely match up with the pace of a man with one leg, guiding them to the den of the infamous rebels.
*
“This should be it… I think…” Rupert mumbled meekly. They’ve walked for so long that the moon had long already reached its zenith. None of the dwellers in Dreamcity they’ve met seemed to know anything regarding the Firstkind – or perhaps, they were unwilling to reveal any hint about them.
The alleyway they were in was narrow and dark, and the path they took to arrive here was even worse, filled with scammers, slavers, crooked watchers, and wicked Sentinels – Evens could hardly believe that the City of Colours would have such a gloomy underbelly. There were no fancy cathouses or colourful taverns within the alley, nor were there really much of anything at all.
“Are you sure?” asked Owl doubtingly. He subtly leered his eyes back at the few people who strangely lurked about in this gloomy alley – their own wary gazes were fixed onto Evens’s party as they strode past them.
The building before them, wedged between the shady alley’s slit, was no doubt a Love Machines’ establishment – though appallingly enough, it did not look nearly as pleasant as even the ones found in Screwpile. From the outside, it looked decrepit and dim, though frantic hums could be heard coming from beyond the door. The wooden board depicting the brothel’s sign of two ladies wearing fox-like masks while carrying a sphere was cracked and barely hanging onto a nail hammered to the crumbling wall.
“Well, what are you acting coy now for? Knock on it,” Evens tapped Rupert’s shoulder, his body was barely holding it together.
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“Why me? I’ve already brought us here,” Rupert jumped back as if a ghost had touched his shoulder instead, nearly tripping from his pegleg. “You do it,” he then nudged Owl’s shoulder instead.
Owl, too, was startled and took a step back from the brothel. “You’re the one who wanted to come here, so you do it–”
“Hello? Anyone home?” Blueyard stepped forward and aggressively banged against the rickety door. “Do you have a moment to speak about our Lord and Saviour–”
As if their frights had wholly left their husks, both Owl and Rupert leapt towards Blueyard, with one pulling him back and the other gagging his mouth with their palms.
“Are you mad?” Rupert grunted feebly to the lanky man’s ears, for he was the only one tall enough to nearly reach Blueyard’s height.
“Don’t just go and do whatever. What if this is a trap?” whispered Owl, as his pupils frantically ran back and forth, up and down.
“Your stresses will grey your hair and slow your mind if you two keep this up.” Despite his gangly physique, Blueyard effortlessly shoved the two boys off of him. “We already know who they are, so stop worrying so much–”
The doorknob creakily tilted downward amidst their worthless quarrel, and the door opened – stealing the attention of all four of them and pacifying them from their squabble.
“Oh? It’s you four,” a lady with tanned skin greeted them at the door. Her one eye of gold shone brightly and glimmered with the moonlight, while her other was hidden under a dark eyepatch, but both were curtained over by her dark and curly fringe. “Are you the folks that Callen and Stelie talked about?” she asked nonchalantly, her voice filled with crass and class.
“I suppose so,” Evens murmured. He could smell hints of smoke and grilled meat flowing out from inside the brothel – the flavourful scent further dulled his mind and made his stomach grumble. “May we please meet them? We were promised safe shelter for a time.”
The one-eyed lady stepped out from the door and faced Evens. Like a curious cat, she poked her face closer to Evens’s and began to eye at the different nooks and crannies of Evens’s body. She was rather slim, and her height did not reach Evens’s. A strange odour was perfumed over her dark, rugged vest and cloak as if she had just eaten a bowl of rotten eggs. “A man of action, aren’t ya? Yet you’re kicking about. Must be a work of miracles.” She poked her fingers onto one of Evens’s many scars.
Though he felt no pain from her nails digging into his old wounds, it was still tickling. “I understand how fortunate I am to have held this long with such a maimed body – but if we do not receive help soon, even it would not last for much longer.” Evens pleaded.
Scrapper, too, barked alongside him, but his bark was a bit aggressive while he stood in front of Evens with his iron tail turning even stiffer than usual.
As if she was just caught in a daze, Scrapper’s bark awoke her from her sudden dream. “But of course. Come on in, lads. By the looks of things, you’d all want to warm your hands and fill your bellies.” She smiled before kindly holding the door open for the strangers whom she had just met.
“Thank you,” Evens feebly bowed his head – unsure whether out of gratitude or because he could barely even lift his neck up for much longer. “Let’s go, boys.” He waved at the three other blokes and his dog – of which they then hastily followed his lead.
“I forgot to ask. What were your names, by the way?” she stopped again as she was just about to go through the door.
Evens stared back at his friends, and it seemed that both Owl and Rupert shared his hesitancy in answering.
“I’m Blueyard! Nice to meet ya’ ma’am!” Blueyard raised his hand to the night sky as if he were a child in a classroom.
In unison, the three remaining members palmed their own faces, even Scrapper could be heard howling in disappointment.
The black-haired lady merely smiled wryly at Blueyard before fixing her one eye of gold back onto Evens and his tactless friends. “What of you three? Surely you’d have a real name given to yourself,” asked the nameless stranger.
Perhaps it was rude for guests to do so, but Evens’s mouth held shut, and so did Owl and Rupert.
“You’re a wary bunch. Can’t say that I hate that. In fact, my crew would probably prefer it if I’m more like you lots.” She chuckled briefly. “But there’s no need for such prudence here. I assure you that we bear no wicked interests in you, Evens.”
“So you already knew,” Evens mumbled disinterestedly.
“But of course I would. And I know you two as well, Owlem and Rupert. I did say that Callen and Stelie have told me of your arrival, and amongst many others.” She pointed his finger at Evens.
“Do you just remember the name of every misfortunate wretch whom happened to be rescued by your band of rebels?” enquired Owl.
“Honestly, yeah,” she replied casually, to the surprise of Owl. “Now quit wasting time outside this broody backstreet, and warm your hinds under our roof instead.” She dragged the crew into the brothel. “Just walk straight ahead – I’ll meet up with all of you soon.”
The four proceeded onward into the brothel while the strange lady went back outside to lock the gate. Despite its gloomy exterior, the light inside was shining so bright from dozens of hanging lanterns that it awoke Evens’s drowsy eyes. The inside did not look like what Evens would have expected from a Love Machines brothel. Instead of bewitching harlots attending to lustful patrons while their bodies were drizzled over by thick and syrupy wine – this supposed brothel was merely clustered with wounded and silent husks, twiddling their thumbs while sipping onto goblets of warm water and bowls of steaming stew, under orange banners with a black four-pointed star sewn over. In fact, it sort of reminded Evens of Foreman Chin’s guildhouse – a gloomy den solely occupied by downtrodden humans and steelborns with nowhere else to go. A few of them Evens recognised – some were amongst the prisoner caravan. So they were freed as well? Evens thought as he winced from the pitiable sight.
At last, a familiar figure approached the four lads. “It took you four long enough. I do hope that it wasn’t too much trouble to find your way here.” The man named Callen Wyck presented himself while fixing his wooden-frame glasses.
“I’d be lying if I said we didn’t stumble into the wrong shops at times. I didn’t expect your band to have such a… humble keep.” Rupert scratched his black head while trying his best to muster a polite smile.
“No need to be modest here,” the woman named Stelie descended from the second floor of the building and approached the group. “It’s a tedious process, but necessary. I hope you understand. We’re not exactly public figures, and certainly not after the recent stunt we’ve done.”
“You say that, but I see dozens of unnamed, unbranded, and unfaithful souls dining here at the hearth of your operation. I fail to see the safety in gathering them here of all places. Aren’t ya’ afraid we may rat ya’ out to the blacks and blues?” Owl questioned the lady with amber eyes.
“That’s a fine question. And in truth – a lot of us would agree with you,” Stelie pointed across the brothel, where a giant of a man dwelt – his dark fleece blended into the shadowy corner.
His name was Abraham Wyck if Evens recalled correctly, and his murky brown eyes were intensely glaring at him, while his wide palm gripping onto a mug of ale, nearly crushing it within his hand.
Is he looking at me? Evens gulped his own saliva while purposely ignoring the giant.
“Unfortunately, our Chief is just strange in that way. She’d dangle the safety of our band and the notoriety of our cause on a fine string – but as if her fortune has been blessed by Ark himself, her wager has not seemed to topple over the string just yet.” Stelie shook her head tiredly at the mere mention of her Chief. “Besides, if we don’t take them in – they’d no sooner end up back in the hands of the Centum Order, slavers, or worse,” Stelie said shakily, those words did not seem to be forced upon by her chief.
Only a few of her words entered Evens’s ears, if he had to be honest. His eyes were solely focused on the cauldron of brewing stew while his mouth was salivating like a mutt.
With her eyes squinting, it took Stelie a moment to figure out what was lingering in Evens’s mind. “Oh, right. Please give me a moment,” Stelie walked over to the fireplace, with Callen joining her.
The two filled five wooden bowls halfway full of the thick brown pottage – all while preying eyes fixed upon them as they scooped up the stew, mostly from the folks who had already received their own servings.
Stelie and Callen returned to the dishevelled newcomers and handed each of them a steaming bowl, even Scrapper. “This is all we have right now. I hope that will suffice,” she spoke with regret.
Evens clutched the bowl tightly in his hand. It was hot to the touch and burned the tip of his fingers, but that was hardly something he’d be concerned over right now. Lessons from Ma to never eat strangers’ food crossed his mind – and left just as fast as they came. The pottage had soft chunks of brown, hard slices of orange, and thin bundles of green. The smell was like something he had never smelled before, yet its peculiar aroma made his stomach bubble all the same. He gulped a mouthful of the pottage down – scorching his throat as he did. For a man who had dined mostly on rodents and bugs his entire life, the texture was strange to his tongue and teeth. It was a bit chewy, and the taste was not as gamy as most of the meals he’s had back in Screwpile. While Evens still preferred Ma’s home-cooking – this was not bad at all.
“I hope it is to your liking. Others seemed to enjoy it,” asked Stelie.
None answered her; their mouths were too full to utter even a single word.
“I’ll take that as a yes then.” The beauty smiled kindly and brightly, outwardly satisfied with herself.
A moment of respite, under a dry roof, surrounded by friends, with warm food in their bellies – it has been a while since Evens had felt this.
Owl was the first to finish his meal. “Thanks for this,” he rested the bowl onto a nearby table and wiped his mouth with his sleeve, “but in truth, I still dunno’ why you’d bother to do all this.” He burped as he spoke. “Is this a way to ensnare us to your cause? ‘Cause I assure you that a small bowl of stew would not cut it. We want nothing to do with whatever you’re doing.”
The giant of a man slammed his fist onto the table from across the room, startling all under the roof. “Oh, shut it, tough guy. Ya’ think we’re doing this ‘cause you’re special? If you're not gonna’ appreciate it, then leave it for others who will–”
“Brother, please,” Callen interrupted him, perhaps he was the only one who would have the courage to calm that brute. “I apologise for my brother’s rudeness – but he does speak some truth. While we’d not force you to bear our colours after a mere meal, we’d be lying to say that we’d not want as many able hands to join our side as possible.” He explained to Owl gently – it was hard to believe that he and that giant were brothers. “But with all that said, you claimed to want nothing to do with us – but do your friends share the same sentiment?” asked Callen as he glanced his auburn eyes over to the others who have remained silent.
Evens stopped slurping on the pottage for a moment, even though he did not have an answer to give.
“I’d go where the boys go,” with not a shred of hesitation, Blueyard answered aloofly while still gargling on his stew.
Rupert softly set his unfinished bowl onto a table, and he too sat over – finally allowing his one leg to take a rest. “If I could… I’d like to join.” He mumbled in a meek manner that was slightly different from usual.
I figured, Evens mumbled, and he was sure that he was not the only one who expected that.
“So you would still not give up on that,” Owl sighed. “Honestly, I do not know what’s gotten’ in that head of yours,” he marched towards Rupert, and for a normally gutless craven, he mustered up enough courage to grab Rupert by his collars, even though he towered half a head over Owlem. “After all what we’ve told ya’. After everything that Miss Num had warned us. After how much ya’ sis pled and begged when the Sentinels hauled your arse off. Ya’ are still willing to forsake it all?” he gripped onto the collars tighter, nearly ripping them off Rupert’s shirt.
“Why are we going through this again? I’ve already given you my verdict again and again.” Rupert replied, unbothered by Owl’s provocation.
This squabble was spoiling his meal, and Evens hurriedly gulped down the rest of the stew. “Owl, that’s enough. Don’t pull one of your antic here–”
“Then what of you, Evens? Will ya’ abandon ya’ mama as well? A momma’s boy like ya’?” the rabid Owl twisted his head to Evens.
Hey, what are ya’ slandering me for? Evens held his hand to his chest, appalled by such uncalled slanders.
“Ya’ boys actually have people waiting for you at home – get that through those hard heads of yours,” Owl grunted before releasing Rupert’s now wrinkled collars.
“Owlem, please. Not here.” Callen gently rested his hand on Owl’s shoulder.
Owl roughly turned his head back, only to then simmer down upon finding himself being the centre of attention of the entire brothel – capturing the attention of all as if he was an amusement act.
“I have a family as well. Aside from that bear of a man over there who is my brother – I’m also a husband and a father of two.” Callen spoke softly. “They’re not here, of course. I wouldn’t dream of bringing them to such a treacherous front. I haven’t seen them in months, but I pray that I will soon be able to reunite with them.”
“Get to the point,” Owl clicked his tongue.
Callen’s expression remained unfazed by Owl’s rude remark. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve longed to abandon it all and return home to my family. In fact, I doubt anyone really wants me to stay here – besides myself, that is.”
“Then quit,” added Owl.
“Perhaps that would be a fine choice. But if I quit, how longer would it be until the flame of my cowardice catch up to me and raze all I’ve cherished to ashes?”
“You all seem to believe that ya’ the centre of the world. Chances are nothing would happen regardless of what ya’ do,” Owl groaned while rubbing his bald head.
“I’m sorry, but I would prefer not to leave things to chance and happenstance – not for the ones I hold dear, at least,” Callen chuckled.
Owl gnarled his teeth as he crossed his arms irately – but he had no riposte to make.
“I’m sure your friends no doubt care for their loved ones – but sometimes, you’d have to make hard decisions all for their sake, even if no one would ever understand it.” Callen took his hand off Owl’s shoulder. “But I do understand that it is a hard decision to make, so at least until Evens is fully rested up – you’d all have that much time to decide.” His smile was gentle, and his voice gentler. Evens knew not whether Callen was the leader of the band or not, but he’d be surprised if his silver tongue hadn’t earned him the position.
“After all, we did promise you a safe dwelling. It’d taint our reputation to not follow through with it – and Ark knows our Chief would not like that.” Stelie said while collecting up the empty bowls.
“Thank you.” Rupert tipped his head.
“Thank you!” Blueyard waved his hand.
Owl remained silent in his seat.
Evens passed the bowl to Stelie. “Thank you–”
“Wait just a damn minute!” A piercing roar from the other end of the brothel stole the dwellers’ attention. “I would have none of that. Not until I hear this one’s answer myself,” Abraham shouted as he always seemed to do, before standing up from his tiny seat and marching towards the group – his steps rumbled the floor like small earthquakes. Both Callen and Stelie simultaneously sighed as they saw him approaching, yet they did not seem to have the energy left to halt his ensuing rampage.
“Buckle up. He boutta’ beat your sour ass,” Evens grinned at Owl while poking his arm – a poor attempt at cheering up the moody Owl.
“I’m talking to you, boy,” the giant pointed his finger straight at Evens’s face.
“Wait, why me?” Evens tried to dodge his head to the side, but the giant’s finger followed wherever he went.
“I don’t give a damn whether your friends want in or not – but they at least were true about it. You were not.” His glare made Evens shrink down deeper into his seat. “So come on, be quick about it.”
What is this fat oaf waffling about? Evens cursed, but only in his mind where the giant could not hear it. The question was simple. He already knew the answer the moment he decided to take their offer to come to this shady brothel. “I don’t… I don’t know.” That was not the answer he once had.
“Say what now?” Abraham raised his eyebrow in confusion.
“Clean your damn ears, man. I said I don’t know. I’m fine with whatever that comes.” Evens whinged like a toddler.
“I heard what ya’ said. I’m giving ya’ a chance to change yer’ pitiful answer.”
Is this some sort of public humiliation ritual? Evens pondered as he stared back and forth, having found himself as the new centre of attention in the entire brothel – Owl, Rupert, and Blueyard certainly seemed to be enjoying this degrading act. “What’s there to change? Whatever comes – comes,” he chortled nasally. “Why is a banished scoundrel like you, of all people, giving me sermons? I’ll decide when the time comes,” Evens kept on laughing by himself despite his heart beating out of rhythm while his breathing ran amok. He reached into his robe’s pocket, where her letter was kept – and he clasped onto it tightly. He could feel the parchment crumpling beneath the fabric, yet he could not seem to release his palm.
“Ya’ honestly hold that true to yer’ chest?”
“Yes. Now hop off my ass.”
The giant took a step back from Evens and scratched his scruffy beard. “You’re a dreadfully dull man, aren’t ya’?” sighed Abraham.
What now? Evens leered at him. He did not expect such a trifle choice of words and unruffled voice from a brute like him, yet it stung all the same.
“Gutless. Spineless. Letting others to drag ya’ around by the nose. Ya’ live your life for nought but waiting for death. A forever witnesser to the future that passed ya’ by. Pitiful runt.” The giant lectured Evens as if he were his teacher.
What the hell do you even know about me? Evens grinded his teeth and clenched his fists – the brute’s words were like bitter medicine to him. There were hundreds of ways he could have defended himself against this slight, whether verbally or physically – yet whatever thoughts he had planned, his weary might and mind would not allow him to follow through with it in this tired state. Yes, that must be why… Evens mumbled to himself, and his mumbling soon became feeble laughter, also to himself.
“If I were the chief, ya’ sorry ass would not be joining this band whether ya’ want to or not.” Abraham spat at Evens’s foot.
“But you’re not the chief, aren’t you?”
A new yet familiar voice crashed into the scene and earned the regards, cheers, and silence of all. The figure lathered in black, from her hair to her heels – even half of her face was too masked in black. The stench of rotten eggs and wax candles followed each of her steps. Her one eye of gold lone shone forth, glimmering like a jewel for all to behold and fall in awe. Her smug smile and slanted eye made it seem as though she was enjoying the adoration of her own kind and strangers alike.
“Oh, you’re back. Took ya’ long enough,” Abraham sighed, yet he still greeted the returning lady.
“I thought that you’ve got lost at the door. I was half a mind to send some men to check up on you,” chuckled Callen.
“What are you getting at? I’m not that helpless,” the one-eyed lady lightly punched the doctor’s arm.
“You’ve been out for quite a while, Lady Frou. Would you like me to serve you a bowl of pottage?” Stelie offered kindly.
“No, Mom – I’m fine,” the woman jested with a jovial tone. She flippantly ambled towards Evens and crouched down next to him. “You enjoying the meal, lad?”
Her voice was smooth yet grating at the same time, only now that Evens was rested did he realise.
“The lady asked ya’ a question, punk.” The giant brute struck Evens’s shoulder.
“The meal was great… If only the hosts could have matched up to it.” Evens glared at the savage. He was not even angry when he first arrived at the brothel, but now, his mood has wholly dampened.
“I’m terribly disappointed to hear that. Perhaps we’d be able to make it up for you soon,” she offered kindly, like a desperate servant.
“Whatever ya’ say. I’ll stay until your promise to us is over, and then we’re done,” Evens shook his head irately, like a frustrated master.
Abraham stepped in between them. “Damn brat. Show some respect here–”
With a flick of her hand, the one-eyed lady commanded the brute to hold his tongue.
The sight of her shutting him up brought slight joy to Evens’s eyes. “I thought ya’ was just some doorwoman, but turns out you’re quite beloved. A jester, perhaps?” Evens chuckled faintly, his throat sored slightly as if he was swallowing hot coals.
“Evens, that’s enough. I’m there with ya’, but others do not seem to,” Owl stepped towards Evens – the gall to do so after his own outburst.
“Yeah, hold it in – ‘lest you want them to kick us out,” whispered Rupert, as he carefully stared around him, only to find that all orbs had been fixed onto Evens.
“What they say, patch-lad!” Blueyard slurred his words as if he were drunk.
Scrapper, too, barked at Evens and feebly bit onto his ankle, betraying his own owner after one measly hot meal.
Whose side are you on, you damn mutt? Evens lifted his foot away.
“A jester? I might as well be, truly,” the lady with bronzed skin giggled, the only one to find Evens’s jest amusing. “But fortunately, my title is a bit fancier.” She still ported a wry smile despite Evens’s attempt at incitement. “My name is Frou – serial-name, Archetype Four. I’m the Chief of the Firstkind.” She stomped her foot onto a table and flapped her dark coattail back while proclaiming her mettle as if she were some sort of outlandish trouper. “You may fall in awe, weep tears of joy, and bow at my feet now.” The unhinged woman winked at Evens – a wink had never looked so lame before.
It was not the good doctor, or the kind lady, nor the strong brute – but this uncharted actor who led this band of downtrodden, brutish, and tousled rebels.
An ecliant… the Chief of the Firstkind? Evens felt his soul slip away while his body struggled to hold up straight. He should have known the moment he caught glimpses of her golden eye, but the serial-name had all but confirmed it. What kind of freak show have I roped myself into? Evens groaned as he faced his friends and pet once more – their disenchantment had never been more visible, not even Rupert could hold a straight face amidst this circus parade.
“Lost for words?” the proclaimed leader grinned smugly.
“You don’t know even the first of it…” Evens tittered dryly, still trying to keep his thoughts collected.
“Well, but I do know just where to start,” she clapped her hands, and the room turned dark – leaving only a few rings of light lit up by candlesticks. “Of all the rescued souls refuging here, yer’ four were the last to arrive. Hundreds of strange stories have been told from first light 'til the curtain of night.” The ecliant lady pulled up a chair to the centre of the light and sat afront the newcomers, while Callen, Stelie, and Abraham posted behind her like statue sentries. “So, care to regale us of your tales up 'til now?” she grinned and revealed her sparkly golden orb, it was far shinier when all the light was solely fixated unto her.
What is even happening? Evens moaned in silence, hoping that the night veiled over this rundown cathouse would mask away his disgruntlement from all – or, at the very least, from his friends and Scrapper. I have a question… For Ark… Why? It has been absurd antics after another ever since Evens stepped foot inside this supposed brothel for decadence. Surrounded by candlelight, with preying stares and cold breaths coming out from the shadowy depths, only one mere thought coursed Evens’s mind as he covered his nose away from the ecliant’s foul stench. Man… I just wanted some rest…