To think that a war could ravage a country, each side hell bent on proving their cause that they never bothered to look back on the ashes of their fires. It broke a heart, to see that those that really suffered in the war were often ones that had no real part in it.
While the abode of Jude Armand was nestled away into the nicer parts of the city, it didn't stop him from thinking about that notion on occasion. It didn't keep him up at nights, for there were always greater things on his mind, but he admitted it was a part of him. That though he didn't yet fight in this war that raged on and on, in a way they were all a part of it. He tried to make a difference, however much he could, in all the small discreet ways he could, helping an old man here, an invalid once in a while, aiding a mage in getting out of the city.
Y'know, small stuff.
Donations to the Church weren't really an option. Jude didn't put much stock in Ansgar, or the people that served in his name. That and the fact that he never did feel quite at home in the house of the pure and the innocent, being neither of those things. And really, just how much good did the Church do after skimming from the pot to line their own pockets?
Jude need some time away from everything, from his townhouse, from the soirees, the parties, the drinks, the gossip, a moment to reflect on why anything mattered at all in the face of what this war stood for. He wondered if the Grand Duke ever really walked around his city, looked at it for what it was, what it was filled with, that it's exterior held none of the gold that it claimed to behold; that it nothing more than a gilded surface, a concealment of the dark and gritty, no less vapid than the clients he served in the cloak of night.
He knew the orphanage on Valkan street rather well, and the headmistress there was a personal friend of his. Olivya Vanquist was a small slender woman, with graying black hair and bright brown eyes that lit up when she cared for the children of her hall. She had married, once, but never again after her husband had died from cholera ten years prior. They both had cared for the children here for the past twenty-five years, and Olivya vowed to continue doing so until the day she died.
Jude could admire her selflessness, for it was certainly more than he could ever claim to possess, and when he could, he made his way to the orphanage to help out once in a great while. But those visits were becoming scarcer and scarcer. So when he made his down the street, he seemed to stand out in his fine clothes, a pleated overcoat atop a light beige jacket and white pressed shirt, tucked well in a matching waistcoat and fine brown leather boots. Well, so what if he was visiting one of the shadier parts of the city, there was no reason he couldn't dress nice. He could take care of himself after all.
Suddenly there was a ruckus in the street and a guard was rushing down the road hot on the heels of a child with nothing more than a loaf of bread in his hands. As they rushed passed Jude, he reached out an arm and snatched the boy by this dirty shirt. "Now there, you know better than to run away from the law, lad," he muttered and the guard had to skirt out of the way to not bump into them.
The guard fixed his helm and approached, his face red from the run. "You come here you little urchin, before I tan your hide!"
"No, lemme go! Lemme go!" the boy said, trying to no avail to yank himself from Jude's grip.
"Now, sir, you don't have to do that. I'll pay for the bread, likely the lad was just hungry," he murmured, looking at the guard just as he reached for the child.
"And who the hell are you? Do you know this child?"
"Of course I know him! He's my ward! I was observing the side windows when I lost track of him is all. I didn't realize he'd get into so much trouble, but that's no reason to threaten him," Jude remarked.
"Then what's his name?"
"Tobias."
The boy glared up at Jude but said nothing, still wriggling in his grasp.
"Oh yeah? How old is he?" The guard narrowed his eyes at Jude and crossed his arms over his chest.
"He's approximately 8 or 9 years old. His mother was a drunken whore, was murdered by a fool who didn't want to pay. I was a friend of the family and decided to take him in. It's hard to say really, for he does all he can to get out of my sight. You were a boy once, don't you remember? But it's a mistake I won't make again. Sorry, sir. Please take this gold for the bread. He won't cause any more trouble." Jude glared down at the child to play along and shook him a bit and the child just blinked at him but still said nothing.
He just hoped the guard would buy it.