Warnings for language, mentions of torture, attempted and successful murder
In any other lifetime, Van might've been happy to enjoy a warm summer's day on a wide, sandy beach, and then retreat to the local tavern for a pint and a hearty meal. In any other lifetime, it would have been paradise, something well beyond anything he ever remembered experiencing Before. He might've even indulged in a long run, wild and free, chasing all the seabirds and barking at the crabs that made their living in the tide pools.
But this wasn't another lifetime. This was his lifetime, and where the warm summer's day might've been pleasant, it only gave him a sense of deep, impotent rage.
As if sensing his rising anger, a voice called from where the dunes ended and the grass began, and Van turned his ire from the boundless, endless ocean to the Bitch standing up the hill. He didn't even need to know what was said, he already knew the truth of it: he wasn't here. They'd hit a dead end, again, and would have to reconvene and reconsider and replan and re-EVERYTHING. Again.
Slowly, Van stormed back up the hill to the grass, and marched right past the Bitch without a word. Which did not seem to stop the Bitch any, considering the mage turned and followed right behind him. They made their way back to town in stony silence, down the cobbled road and to the tavern, where Van promptly found a table and plopped himself down to stare holes into the wooden surface while his companion dealt with everything else.
It was, of course, the least he could fucking do.
Van only looked up when the chair opposite him was pulled back, and Kharon sat down. He, too, seemed to be dealing with this latest setback in a not-altogether great way. His eyes, already dark, seemed black as death as he stared at the wall behind Van, his hands folded and raised to rest against his mouth as he leaned on the table.
Neither of them seemed ready to break the silence, not even when two plates and two tankards were set down by the barmaid, who was similarly too busy to notice the rudeness of their lack of response. Eventually, hunger won out over anger, and Van began tearing into his food, the motion earning Kharon's attention, who in turn just stared silently at him while he ate.
Which was, genuinely, entirely too distracting for Van's current liking.
"You fucking mind?" He growled. Kharon's eyes narrowed in poorly concealed contempt, before he, too, turned to his own dinner and began to eat.
"We need to figure out where to go from here," Kharon said after a bite of bread and cheese.
"I'm eating."
"I have eyes."
"Use them, then."
A sharp huff, and then further silence as the two ate. After a deep drink, though, Van was considerably more amicable to the idea of talking, and looked across the table at the other man.
"You're sure this is the place?"
"No. This was the most probable lead."
"Probable?"
Kharon rolled his eyes in a way that got Van's hackles straight up, but he kept himself in check long enough to wait for his answer, "The place that had the best chance of being where we wanted to be."
"But not the place."
"Apparently not."
"So?"
"So?"
"So, Mr Books and Magic and Shit, what now?"
Kharon's lips pressed into a thin line, very nearly disappearing entirely. Van took some consolation in how, as angry as the Bitch made him, he was just as capable of pissing him off right back.
"I'll need to do research. Think you can keep from starting bar fights long enough for me to actually ask questions, this time?"
"Think you can ask the right questions this time?"
Kharon slapped a key down on the table and stood up. Van mentally scratched a tally mark on his own side - he definitely won this round. Slipping the key into his pocket, Van stood as well after finishing his and Kharon's drink both.
"Second floor, third to the right. Stay put and don't start any trouble. I will return later." Kharon turned without waiting to see if Van had anything further to say, before storming off out the front door and out into the streets. Another tally, he'd gotten him nice and pissed off.
Chuckling softly, Van headed upstairs with their bags, dropping Kharon's rather unceremoniously on the floor by the door before heading right over to the bed, kicking his boots off as he went.
Another town, another dead end. The Mage - the Bastard - had to be out there somewhere. He couldn't hide forever. And when Van found him, oh, he was going to make him pay.
