Do you not see how necessary a world of pains and troubles is to school an intelligence and make it a soul?
~John Keats
I enter the town at about noon, my hands in my pockets and a disgruntled scowl on my face. I’m ravenously hungry, but so rattled after that encounter with that do-gooder that I know I’ll just make a mess of things if I try to steal. However, my stomach reminds me that it will not tolerate further abuse for much longer, and I attempt to steal an apple from a stand. The keeper turns at precisely the wrong moment and sees.
“Stop, thief!” I turn and take to my feet, running like mad. Unfortunately, so does the owner and a half-dozen other people. Oh, hell, I think, and bolt down various side streets in an attempt to lose them, but I don’t know the terrain, and they do. Suddenly, they stop, and I hear cries of, “That damn bird!” I pause, and frown. What? I find out a moment later, when my new acquaintance comes racing around the corner and crashes into me. He recoils and hit a wall; I fall and land in the gutter, striking my head. Sparks dance before my eyes. The sounds of the pursuit grow louder, and he reaches over and pulls me to my feet. I reach for a knife, and he hastily clamps his hand over mind, shaking his head. My pursuers stop before us.
“Hand her over,” one of them calls out.
“Good sirs,” my shapeshifter companion replies, stepping between them and me, “I am so terribly sorry about that. My dear sister doesn’t know what she’s doing at times.”
My mouth drops open. “By the gods, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” I hiss.
“Just play along,” he replies in a fierce whisper, then addresses the people again. “You see, she’s just a little crazy.” I draw in my breath sharply. How dare he? “Yes, indeed,” he continues, “it is truly sad how illness can strike the mind so.”
“But she stole from my cart,” the stall-owner yelps, pushing a lock of coarse, grey-sprinkled hair from his face with one thick hand. “Thieving may be overlooked in Beryl, but not here!” Murmurs of agreement sound from the people behind him.
“I know that, good sir,” the young man says. “In fact, the people of Beryl told us to leave out fair city. It was no place for those with the madness.”
I’m getting sick of him questioning my mental health, and lightly prick his back with my knife, whispering, “Call me crazy one more time, and this goes into your heart. I swear it.”
He nods, and I resheath the blade, then wish I hadn’t as he grins wickedly back at me. “And just to show you there are no hard feelings,” he says to the man, “my sister will return what it was she has stolen from you.” He smirks at the shock on my face. “Won’t you?” He pulls me out from behind him, the townspeople staring at me with accusing eyes.
“What kind of a-” I begin, not caring what the consequences will be, but he cuts me off.
“Rois!” he hisses, and I stiffen in shock. How the hell does he know my name? I swear I’ll kill him for this. “Just do it.”
If looks could kill, he and the townspeople would be dead. But they don’t, and I remove the apple from under my jacket and toss it carelessly to the cart owner. He fumbles to catch it and glares at me. I sullenly stare back. They all turn and leave. Once I’m certain they’re out of earshot, I turn to face the idiot behid me.
“Nice going,” I growl. “Now what am I supposed to eat?”
“Come with me,” he offers cheerfully. Like hell I will! “I’ll buy you lunch.” I roll my eyes. I’d sooner die than accept this fool’s condescending charity. He looks down to pull out some coins...pity I’d already picked his pockets. I take advantage of the moment to duck into an alleyway and run. But I still haven’t seen the last of him.
I try to purchase a meal from a shop, but the shopkeeper recognizes me and throws me out, threatening to call the Watch if I come back. I glare at the door, sorely tempted to pull a knife on him. I hear soft laughter from behind, turn, and stifle a groan.
“Not you again,” I mutter, then ask in a louder voice, “What do you find so funny?”
He takes a few steps closer, grinning. “You,” he replies, smirking. “You can’t do anything right.”
I flinch inwardly, and think to myself, No need to rub it in. Aloud: “Well, of course not, since you made me look like a lunatic.” I can’t keep the injured tone from my voice. “It’s hardly surprising.”
He decides to bait me further: “So that’s gratitude for you,” he comments coolly. I fold my arms, glaring. “I save your life, and this is how you treat me.”
I can’t take this any longer. “Gratitude?” I snarl. “I’ll show you gratitude!” A dagger slips to my fingers, and I slash at him. He’s lucky he moves, receiving only a shallow cut on the arm.
“Bitch!” he hisses, then cuts himself off, flushing. “Look, I’m sorry, okay?”
I roll my eyes and shove past him. “Why don’t you just go away and leave me alone?”
“No.” I turn, raising an eyebrow, as he slowly turns to face me.
“Why not?” I ask, then add mockingly, “Aren’t you man enough to go off on your own?”
“Rois,” he says patiently, “listen. I’ve lived on my own for quite a bit of my life. It’s you that I’m worried about.” I snort with laughter. I don’t want anyone to pity me, least of all him. “You think you’re good at all you do, and I think you may be right. However, certain things like manners and courtesy are just common sense.”
I groan inwardly. Not one of these damn lectures! “Don’t waste your breath,” I snap. “I know all I want to about manners and courtesy, and, frankly, I don’t give a damn about them. Only weaklings who can’t survive on their own need them.”
“People who can work with others use them,” he insists. Hell, I don’t want to work with others! I want to be left alone! “No matter where you go, there are people, Rois. That’s a constant fact. I learned that myself, and there’s no escaping them.”
“Quit calling me that!” I snarl.
“Why?” he asks, frowning. “Is that not your name?”
“Who said it was?” I reply, folding my arms again.
“Who said it wasn’t?” he returns, mimicking me in stance as well as words. “Now, just calm down.”
“How dare you order me around!” I snap, incensed.
“Would you rather I was some slave at your beck and call?” he replies, sounding frustrated.
“Sure, that would be nice,” comes my mocking reply. “Then I could order you to leave me alone!”
“Forget it!” he growls. His fists clench. Go on, I think. I dare you to hit me. “You’re stuck with me whether you like it or not.” I glance past him impatiently, and he adds, “Look, we can do this the easy way or the hard way.” How about we just go our ways and not do anything at all?
“Not another lecture,” I groan. “I nearly fell asleep on my feet at that last one.”
I can tell he’d rather hit me than keep talking, but he keeps a tight rein on his temper and continues. He steps forward, extending a hand. “Truce?” he asks.
Oh, please, the stupidity! I smirk, and step forward, taking hold of his hand. “When hell freezes over!” I hiss, then spit in his face and run. Now maybe he’ll leave me alone!