*this* means emphasis, okay?
########
fear of unknowns
There was talking. Too much damned talking, when all he
wanted was to sleep. Close his eyes and lean on the sun-heated window and let
the warmth and the monotonous rumble of the engine lull him into oblivion. It
might have worked by now, too if his fellow travelers would just shut the hell
up long enough for him to give into the stifling, energy-sapping heat and doze
off. If only they’d shut up long enough for him to fall asleep and fall away from
contemplation of the things that may or may not be waiting for him at the end
of this ride.
If only
he could ignore them and the uncomfortable stickiness of the seats and the way
the sweat on his face was stinging his cheek.
He raised
a hand to it at the thought, touched fingers against sore, hot skin. It burned
a little, the laying of fingers on damaged flesh. Wouldn’t feel a thing in a
day or two, he figured. Wouldn’t have to think about it unless he looked in a
mirror, or caught his reflection in any other surface.
If people
would shut up, if he could sleep, he wouldn’t have to think about how he would
forever be marked as a criminal, or whatever the hell it was he was now. If he
could sleep he wouldn’t have to worry about what that was or what that meant--at
least for a little while.
He sighed
and cracked open one eye. Gholas again. Still as cheerful and energetic as he’d
been at the beginning of this trip. Even with his eye less that half open he
could recognize the guard. Knew him by the colored strips of rank on his
sleeves as well as his large, sweeping gestures. Not just another traveler,
Gholas, but his own personal babysitter. His own personal guard. He should be
flattered, he supposed, that they thought he needed supervision. That they
thought he’d get anywhere with his face so clearly marked.
He had it
to the window, his marked cheek, his swollen, irritated eye. Gholas had wanted
to move to the other side of the bus, out of the sun, but he’d refused. Much preferred
to keep that side of his face towards the wall, and invisible to the other passengers.
Oh, he’d get used to it in time, he figured. But not yet. Not now, with his eye
watering and itching and nearly blinding him on that side. It didn’t like the
inks, that eye. Maybe just hadn’t liked painful procedures carried out so close
to it.
And maybe
it was nerves.
If only
Gholas would shut the hell up. He had half a mind to tell to him to. To
threaten him with bodily harm he couldn’t inflict. Not with one eye half-blind
and Gholas armed to the teeth. Not in this cramped space, in any case.
“You
alright there, Vae?” Gholas, noticing his annoyed scrutiny and half-turning
back to him, looking disgustingly untroubled. Unperturbed. Unworried. Friendly,
even.
“Yeah.
Perfectly.” Vae sounded grouchy even to his own ears. Petulant. At the moment,
he didn’t much care. Not with his hair and face damp with sweat and his cheek
burning from it.
“Almost
there.” As if it was good news. As if it was something Vae had been looking
forward to. As if it wasn’t a thought that made helpless panic
tie his stomach, his intestines, into knots.
“Sure.”
He muttered and raised his head enough to make a show of looking out the
window. His bad eye showed him only a blurry landscape of greens and yellow.
Sand and sparse shrubbery, he supposed. Maybe some grass. How odd that only few
days ago he’d thought the sight of blue, clears skies enough a payment for
anything they could ask him. Anything.
Young and
foolish, he’d been, only a few short days ago. Interesting, what a few nights
of sleepless anxiety and wondering could do for a man. He was at his wits’ end,
he figured. Or had been. Now, he thought it was his nerves that wouldn’t take
much more.
Over. He
wanted it over, this waiting and wondering and this slowly tightening tangle
his insides seemed to be making of themselves. Gholas was still chattering to whatever
temporary friend he’d made on this trip, and Vae wanted that over, too. Wanted
silence and the cool security of solid walls and knowing what tomorrow had in
store for him.
Almost,
he wanted to ask Gholas what that was. Where, exactly, they were headed, and
what he’s gotten himself into. Wasn’t willing to let
on just how little he really knew. Wasn’t willing to let on how foolishly, idiotically
desperate he’d been for wind on his face and sunlight on his skin. Stupid romanticizing.
Dangerous daydreams that had maybe gotten him in deeper than he knew how to get
out of.
Silence,
then. Sudden and deep enough that Vae looked up again, jarred by it. “What?” He
half-snarled at Gholas’s unwelcome scrutiny.
Gholas
was unperturbed. Used to ill-grace, or maybe simply not taking him seriously.
He reached over and pulled the curtain over the window, tucking it behind Vae’s
head when he didn’t budge to let the thing fall over the glass.
“You bake
your brains out, and Solle will have me responsible for it.” He sounded a
little less cheerful. Maybe just a touch put out. Still unconcerned, though.
Still light and easy and like a man who knew where he’d be sleeping tonight and
knew with little uncertainty that it was a sleep he’d be waking from.
“It was
okay.” Vae said, meaning the window. Meaning the mind-numbing, limb-relaxing
heat of the sun.
“You look
like shit. Want some water or something?”
“No.” Too
tired. Too worried to be thirsty. And too scared. More so, with every passing
mile. Solle. Solle was a name that was familiar, if distantly so. Powerful,
Solle was, if he remembered correctly. And if a powerful man was concerned
enough that Gholas could tear himself away from his conversations long enough
to prevent heatstroke, well that was something to cling to. Something he could take some measure of
reassurance from.
Not wise,
though to be too optimistic. Optimism had gotten him here in the first place,
heading into uncertainties and unknowns with his face branded and a guard set
on him. God damn.
Soon.
They’d be there soon, Gholas said. He half hoped so. Half wanted another day or
so of certainties and of things that were familiar. Where ever they were going
was decidedly not. Whoever Solle was, he too was decidedly an unknown. A
stranger who was a part of a strange, mysterious future.
Better to
get it over with, really. Things had been going from bad to worse for so long
that they had to improve eventually. Sometime soon, his luck would kick in and
it might as well be now. He didn’t think it would have too many more chances to
if it didn’t.
“Nothing
to worry about.” Gholas was saying, as the bus took a turn just a breath too
fast and pressed Vae against the hot, sticky side paneling. Sure. Nothing to
worry about. Not a thing. Empty reassurances from someone with money in his
pockets and his own clothes on his back and no identifying dark mark painted
into his face
“Sure,” Vae
said with a tired attempt at a cocky grin, “And I’m not, if it makes you feel
better.” Gholas rolled his eyes at that, annoyed at last. Probably not used to
having his friendly overtures rejected. Wrong profession he’d chosen, if that was the case. He’d have made a brilliant tour
guide, if the discussions he was having with the other
passengers was anything to judge by.
Outside,
the scenery had changed in tone to grays and dirty whites and flashes of color.
Enough of a change that Vae lifted and turned his head to get a look with his
good eye. Dirty city outskirts greeted him. Small homes in various degrees of
poverty sparsely scattered still outside looming grey-white walls. Children and
vendors flocked to the bus windows as it ground to a halt, tapping on windows
and clamoring for handouts or hawking their wares. Vae sighed, ducked his head
again, and poked absently at a hole in the upholstery of the chair in front of
him.
“Almost
there.” Gholas chirped again, and this time Vae couldn’t tell if it was in
reassurance or spite or merely idle chatter. Up ahead, the driver yelled
something out the window and they started back into motion, accelerating slowly
through the city streets.
Almost
there. Almost there. Almost . . . . God. Good God.
Whatever
he’d gotten himself into, whatever it was he’d traded imprisonment
for, let it have been a good decision. Dumb luck could stand to be on his side,
just once.
Just
once.
The
shapes flitting by outside the window were bigger now that they were through the
gates. Taller and sleeker and wealthier the longer they traveled. He peered out
again, not surprised at the sight of the city, but shaken somewhat by it, after
so long roaming the outlands. After so long hiding away in the most obscure of
towns and holdings.
A sight
for sore eyes, those lights and sleek shop fronts and elegantly attired people.
The streets of his childhood, even if they teemed now with guards, uniformed
like Gholas, swords at their hips. Guns visible on some of them.
If there
was a war brewing, if the foreign situation was quickly growing out of control,
it wasn’t apparent here. Here Women in elaborate headdresses picked their way
through pristine streets and were escorted across the road by armed, neat
guards.
A few
more blocks and the bus again came to a halt. Vae didn’t look up, didn’t care
to once he’d heard Gholas bidding his companions farewell and have a pleasant
stay. He hadn’t risen from his seat save to help a lady with her baggage. A
little further, then.
Almost
there.
Just
once, Luck. Just once.
“We go on
a ways.” Gholas said, slouching, propping his knees against the chair in front
of him, idly brushing imaginary dust or crumbs or lint off the front of his
uniform.
Only a
short way, then, if Gholas was primping. Only a few minutes more, Vae guessed.
He almost wanted to ask about it. Almost. Instead, he chose a few more minutes
of not knowing. A few more minutes of the world being possibilities and
potential happy endings. A few more minutes of being able to think that maybe
he hadn’t been as much of an idiot as he feared he had. That maybe something
could go right, once.
Just
once.
And then
the bus was slowing, stopping, and Gholas was getting to his feet and gathering
his things. Was stretching and smoothing his uniform and looking down with an
expectant look.
“Come on.
Move, move, we’re here.”
Here. So
fast? So soon? He wanted a few more minutes. A few more moments of unanswered
questions. But no, they were here, wherever ‘here’ was.
Once,
Luck. Just once. Just *this* once.
Just this
once.
~tbc/edited/scrapped