A Life Worth Living (Closed) (M)

[Valtxr]

  "You're going to hurt someone today. Aren't you?"
  Sharon froze. Siro, her little sister, sat across the table. She chewed the sweet roll Sharon had bought for her. Her eyes were inquisitive. Intent. And worried.
  Sharon wet her lips, searching for a response. She opened her mouth when she thought she found it. But it dropped away, vanished from her mind, and she pursed her lips and looked away.
  People were going about their day. Some going into the bakery behind Sharon, some leaving it.   The gray clouds crawled across the sky. The world was moving, but Sharon wasn't moving with it. She could almost see it: that tiny moment, that small sliver of time, when Siro didn't know what she did for a living. It fluttered away on the wind. Now, today, somehow...she knew. Her little sister knew.
  "Sharon?"
  "What makes you think that I'm going to..." she closed her eyes, "...do that?"
  Siro took another bite out of her sweet roll. Kept chewing.
  Sharon looked back at her. "Siro, answer me please."
  A moment passed. Then, "Jorge told me."
  Her eyes narrowed. "What did he say?"
  Siro swallowed, but she didn't take another bite. She stared at Sharon for another quiet moment. Studied her. "He said that you only buy me sweet rolls when you have to do something bad at work. That it makes you feel better. Is that true?"
  Sharon's mouth dropped open the smallest bit, revealing her surprise, and it took her a full three seconds to realize it. She blinked rapidly, shook her head to dispel her rising anger at what Jorge had done, then stood up. She rounded the table, crouched, and put her hands on her little sister's shoulders.
  "No, no, Siro, listen to me, okay?" She took a breath. "I...do...what I do...so you can live the best life you can possibly live. I don't want you to grow up the way I did. You deserve better, you understand? I want to keep buying those books for you to study. I want to move us into a better neighborhood. And sometimes I just want to buy you one of these awesome sweet rolls you love so much." That got a smile out of Siro. "But I can't make any of that happen unless I do what I have to do. Everything in this life costs something. That's just how the world works. Okay?"
  "Okay."
  "Good." Sharon smiled back. "C'mon. Finish eating and I'll walk you home."

* * * * *

  The gray clouds covered the whole sky now. A light rain fell onto the city.
  Sharon stepped through a large puddle as she approached. Charles and Jorge stood outside the meeting place: a half-burned down house in a poor neighborhood, a section of Reajh where people didn't risk paying too much attention to other people's business.
  She glared at Jorge. He grunted. His cheeks raised up slightly—he was smiling under the mask.
  Charles glanced at the two of them. Let it go. Said, "Remember. 'Service'."
  Charles pushed open the front door and went in. Jorge followed.
  She'd have to give Jorge a piece of her mind later. Sharon entered and closed the door behind herself.
  Inside, three armed men stood across a lonely table from them. Rain and dim light poured in through the large hole in the roof on Sharon's left; rainwater streamed off the charred edges. Even through the fresh rain the smell of ash and burnt wood clawed at her nose. Seeped into her skin.
  "Charles," said one of the men.
  "Stefan."
  The man, Stefan, motioned to the table and the two cheap chairs beside it. "Let's talk."
  "Let's."
  The two of them sat at the table. Sharon and Jorge stood behind Charles, and Stefan's men stood behind him. Sharon eyed her opposite on Stefan's side of the room. He had his hand on his holstered pistol. Sharon gently put a hand on hers.
  "You've got some explaining to do," Charles said.
  "An apology, of course, from Mr. Deegan. One he hopes Mr. Winters will accept. Yesterday's incident...a tragic misunderstanding. We didn't know that was Mr. Winters' territory—"
  "Bullshit."
  Stefan held up his hands briefly. "Mr. Deegan knows this is no excuse. Reparations of drugs or gold, whichever is Mr. Winters' request, will be respectfully furnished for the mishap. Mr. Deegan doesn't want this incident to damage the relationship between our two businesses."
  "Good. But there's a few other..."
  Sharon focused more and more on the nameless man across from her. As her eyes adjusted to the shadows, she saw that it wasn't a man at all. A woman, like her, just with short hair.
  Sharon's mind wandered. How did this woman end up standing there? How did her path cross with Sharon's, in this blackened house, at this precise moment? Everything about her—every sweet memory, every dark moment—was about to end. Unceremoniously. Here. In this unremarkable place. Was it a life worth living, if she were given the choice to live it again? Did her journey matter?
  Did her own?
  "...can be arranged," said Charles. "Tell Mr. Deegan that Mr. Winters thanks him for his service."
  You're going to hurt someone today. Aren't you?
  Sharon drew her pistol.
  Three gunshots rang out as one.
  Stefan's head whipped back and he fell out of his chair. The man behind Stefan tumbled to the floor, a chunk of his skull missing. The woman yelped and dropped her half-drawn pistol, collapsing by the man. She clamped a hand onto the side of her neck. Blood squirted out from between her fingers. She thrashed around, her boots kicking the table legs and the wooden floor in desperation.
  Charles put down his pistol on the table. Stood up. Drew his dagger. "God damn it."
  He walked over to the squirming woman. Crouched down and straddled her. Shoved the knife between her ribs. She kicked and kicked, knocking the table over. But her legs soon went still, her gargling soon went quiet.
  Without looking back at them, Charles said, "Check the other two."
  Jorge went to the body of Stefan's male guard.
  Sharon swallowed, took a breath, holstered her pistol, and went to Stefan's body.
  But Jorge found what they were looking for in the pockets of the male guard. "Here it is, boss. Note says, 'Crescent square. Six crates of Ignis root.'"
  "That's the shipment." Charles stood up. Picked his pistol up from the floor. "We've got a couple hours til sundown. We'll hit that safehouse then. Use the cover of darkness to lift the goods." He holstered the pistol. "Leave one at a time. Draw less attention. You first, Vrouge."
  "Got it." Jorge slipped the note into his pocket. He stepped up to Sharon, clapped her on the shoulder two times. She said nothing. He made for the door and left the house.
  As soon as he was gone, Sharon looked to Charles and said, "I need to talk to you about Vrouge. He—"
  "Hey. I don't know what the hell has gotten into you, Gordon, but I need you to stay focused on the task at hand." Charles gestured back at the dead woman. "You missed your kill shot—that's not like you. What if she got her own shot off? Hit me or you? Hmm? You wanna put your sister through somethin' like that? Seein' you come home wounded, or worse?"
  "I—"
  "This personal shit stays at home, or at the tavern, or wherever it needs to be. When you're on the job, you suck it up and deal with it. Or else you're gonna get one of us killed."
  Sharon closed her eyes. Lowered her head. Nodded. "I understand."
  "Good." Charles walked to the door. "Take a minute. Then leave."
  And he was gone.
  Sharon stood there in the house, the three bodies around her. The rain kept falling in through the hole in the roof. Splattering on the floor. The rainwater mixed with the blood. Diluting it. Erasing it. Like all things.
  Sharon stepped out the door of the house. She looked to her left and right, then started walking away.

[Wycliff]

Aven's full plate clacked upon the wet cobblestone beneath his boots as he strode around the fifth district, making his rounds as a lieutenant of Ansgar's Hand. At least, that was his coverup for making a mental map of the entire cities layout, for use in the uprising. He would need every bit of information he could get to outsmart Calent and Artorias, a feat even he himself was not completely confident in accomplishing. If he failed... no, he would not fail. Hakon, and everyone oppressed by Calent's tyrannical reign, counted on his success.
The sound of several gunshots tore him from his thoughts, turning his head abruptly toward the noise. Guns? In this district? He'd seen the strange new invention employed by only one other, and it was deadly indeed: meaning that at minimum, one life had just met an untimely end. He bolted toward the noise, the sense of duty Hakon had caused to blossom in him showing its colors. He may have been a revolutionary, but his true duty was to the people of Connloath.
Aven arrived at a decrepit old house, half destroyed by the hands of fate, certainly the stereotypical place to commit a murder. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a woman walking away from the area. He made note of her trajectory before glancing quickly inside on the building, catching sight of three bodies. That puts the total at ten this month.... He closes the door, pursuing the woman he'd seen before. Checking the bodies could wait: dead men tell no tales.


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[Valtxr]

  Sharon glanced around as she walked. Looked as casual as she could. Small beads of rainwater lazily streaked down her face. Dripped from the back of her ponytail.
  Then she saw him, out of the corner of her eye as she looked left. The man in the full plate armor. Following her. She snapped her head forward. Kept her eyes on the street ahead.
  The straws were drawn, and Sharon had come up short.
  This is what Charles had been worried about. The task itself was simple, the execution was clean enough, but it was leaving the scene that presented the most danger, even in this sort of neighborhood.
  Sharon clenched her teeth. Should have reloaded when she had the time. Now she only had her reserve pistol and a dagger worthless against plate—
  What if the man was a guard? Was he? She didn't get a good enough look at him, but it wasn't out of the question. Could just be an adventurer of some sort. A man looking to do his good deed. Maybe it was nothing at all. Maybe. Hopefully.
  But if it was a guard, and if he was after her, the only thing she could do was run. Mr. Winters strictly forbade everyone in his employ from killing, or even hurting, Reajh authorities. The critical mistake most other crime families made was to provoke the ire of the city guard, and Mr. Winters would have none of that. If Sharon broke the rule, she was as good as dead.
  Sharon continued down the street. Kept her pace calm. Her eyes forward.

[Wycliff]

Aven followed the woman at a brisk pace, calling out to her in a polite tone. His voice speaks toward a gentle soul. "Excuse me, Miss! May I have a moment of your time?" He took note of the reddish ponytail that waved behind her, and the common garb she wore. Had he not seen her exiting the scene, he would be none the wiser to any involvement she may have. He sighed to think that she may be the culprit, it would be a shame to arrest a woman in her prime.
He slowed his pace as he caught up to her side, matching her stride as he waiting her an answer. The full plate left everything to the imagination, not a speck of skin showing through the winged armor.


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[Valtxr]

  Sharon stopped when the man called out to her. She felt her heart quickening. This was the first time since she took on the job that things had gone awry. Such misfortune was inevitable. Inescapable. And, like the monster of many folk tales, it found her.
  She looked back over her shoulder. Turned to face him as he approached. Smiled.
  "Yes? What can I do for you?"
  A bad play, this feigned innocence. She had gambled away her headstart on the man, let him within striking range of her, on the slim chance that this whole affair wasn't what she thought it was. What she knew it was. She could almost stand apart from herself in that moment, watch herself commit this grave mistake from some distant perspective.
  Hope slithered through her blood. Poisoning her mind with its false promise.

[Wycliff]

Aven smiled under his helm. She didn't act like a criminal, she could have easily ran away from the scene into an alleyway. Perhaps he'd been wrong: he certainly hoped so. He stopped a few feet in front of her, drawing himself to his full height at six feet, though the armor made him seem closer to six and a half with it's bulk. "I apologize for the inconvenience, Ma'am. I am Aven Alveron of Ansgar's Hand, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance." He performs a formal bow, inadvertently revealing the monstrous, five foot blade on his back: almost six inches wide at most points, the solid steel weapon had a wicked curve and no crossguard, and boasted the same illustrious silver color as his armor, not equipment a normal soldier would possess. It had to be insanely heavy, even to carry on one's back, let alone wield.
He straightens, addressing her once more. "I was passing by the area, when I heard the a very loud commotion from this area. I also spotted you on my way to investigate, leaving the scene. Did you, perhaps, see what occurred?"


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[Valtxr]

  Her smile waivered as the man came up to her. A lapse in her facade.
  He was enormous up close. A nightmare, made manifest in flesh and steel. A folk tale, made real.
  Sharon strained to keep her smile going when she saw his sword. It was almost as big as her own body. How could he even wield such a weapon, let alone doing so in full plate armor? Escape seemed more and more to be the desperate rather than the sensible option.
  Aven. Alveron. Ansgar's Hand. Reajh authority. Hands-off.
  "Alexa Marr." She nodded. Perhaps a little too deeply. Like a failed attempt at her own bow, thought better of and stopped just after it had begun.
  She listened to Aven's explanation of his intentions. Held her right hand with her left.
  One chance to get this right.
  "Ah. That." She looked up at the gray clouds. "I should've just went home when it started raining." Back at Aven. "But, I kept walking. Nice day before all this. Just...lost in thought, I guess. Ended up here. I heard it too. The gunshots, right?" She sighed. Shook her head. "Now I know why most people in this neighborhood keep to themselves. That scene in there...it's something you can't unsee. It stays with you." She thought of Siro, and her eyes drifted. "Takes away that time before. That innocent time. Forever."
  She looked back to Aven. Better to call attention to her own pistols herself. "That's why my father gave me these. Always worried, him. But, after seeing that sight in there...I never want to find myself using them."
  She sighed. Sincerely, she hoped. "I'm sorry, sir. But whatever happened there, I only caught the tail end of it. That mess, not whoever made it. It's...sickening to think about."

[Wycliff]

Aven nods through her story, noting the uneasiness in her mannerisms. He couldn't exactly chalk that up to guiltiness, though: he was an intimidating figure in his armor, that much was certain. He tended to forget that, as he dealt with equally intimidating people in a daily basis. Hell, his fiancé was more intimidating than him on the norm.
In an attempt to appear a bit less monstrous, he removes the winged helm, ruffling his short, combed up silver locks and matching, gentle eyes. In honestly, he is very fair and soft on the eyes, not at all the visage one would expect from his armor. "I agree, having protection is paramount in these hard times. Your father is a sensible man." He glances at the pistols curiously. "I've never actually held a contraption such if those 'guns'. I've only seen them used: may I, perhaps, be allowed to inspect them?" He'd been told several things by the man he met who used a similar weapon: first, that they used the kinetic force from a chemical explosion to launch the projectile, and second, that they have limited ammunition they can hold. Assuming the first was correct, he would be able to tell if the gun was recently fired by inspecting the barrel.


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[Valtxr]

  The man, Aven, took off his helm. Sharon scarcely believed her eyes. It was as if his head didn't match his body to her. The dissonance of the moment captivated her. Distracted her. Tied the strings of her lies into a knot and rolled them away.
  Just long enough for her not to think about what she should have done. The best course of action. Any path that cleanly delivered her from this situation darkened. And there was only one left.
  The wrong one.
  "Oh. Okay." And she drew and handed over her pistol to Aven.
  Only then, far beyond any graceful point of return, did she realize her mistake. She handed him the gun that she had fired, not her reserve. The stench of gunpowder would be unmistakeable. The stench of her guilt. Her sins.
  She renewed her smile. Hope had many more false promises yet. A spirit that granted no wishes. A god that answered no prayers.
  She looked Aven in the eyes, her pistol still extended toward him. She wiped some of the rainwater from her brow with her free hand. Waited.

[Wycliff]

Aven accepted the weapon, turning it over in his hand curiously, poking and prodding with aimed precision that would almost denote scholarly intrigue. Despite the situation, his eyes shine bright with excitement at the device, and Sharon would realize that the man was actually quite young, not even halfway through his twenties. Gazing into the nozzle, he caught the scent of the gunpowder, irrefutable evidence that the gun had been fired recently. So I was correct... His expression changes not, however, and he continues on the inspect the apparatus which lights the spark. He begins to laugh with delight. "Intriguing! This must come in quite handy for self defense: I certainly wouldn't want to be on the opposing end of it's barrel!"
He hands the pistol back to her, a gentle smile on his face. "Say, you look hungry: how would you like to accompany me to dinner? I was on my way to my favorite restaurant after this, you're welcome to join me; maybe we could talk a bit more about this amazing little contraption?" A tone in his voice is softly suggestive that she accept, the stress he put on the word 'this' making it clear he'd found her secret.


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[Valtxr]

  Sharon focused on every little nuance of his inspection of the weapon. His eyes changed. Why? Curiousity? Joy? What was—he was looking at something. Searching. Did he—
  Sharon flinched when Aven laughed. Snapped out of her intense scrutiny and back into her rain-soaked reality. Her eyes took a moment to find the pistol being presented back to her.
  "Yes, I'm sure it is. If only we lived in a world where we didn't need such things."
  The offer. The hidden ultimatum. Sharon almost had the pistol holstered again, looking down at her right side to guide it in, when Aven said it. She froze, the pistol barely touching the leather.
  The word this stung her ears. Did he mean pistols in general? All pistols? The way they functioned? That...maybe...
  Or this pistol. The one she held in her hand.  The only pistol that mattered.
  She slid it into the holster. Kept her head and eyes down.
  Running was suicide. If Aven were just about any other Connlaothian soldier, some sort of fresh-faced, scrawny kid instead of the towering mass before her...maybe. But the plate armor. The sword. Surely he was conditioned to them—nothing more than feathers on a bird to him. Even getting tackled by him tempted serious injury. Cracked ribs. Broken arm, leg.
  Accompany him to dinner. Was it a euphemism? Almost certainly. And almost certainly nothing good, if this pistol meant this pistol.
  Sharon kept her head and eyes down. Rain dripped off of her hair.
  "Are you...asking me to join you? Or telling me?"

[Wycliff]

Aven chuckles. "I'm not the kind of man to force a lady to do anything, it was merely an offer to a citizen who looks down on her luck." He glances up at the sky. "This rain truly is miserable weather, almost enough to wash away the strain of this world's sins and transgressions." He closes his eyes, allowing the raindrops to run down his eyelids. "But it cannot. Only the living can fix the living."
His gaze rests on her once more. "Yes, it is truly miserable weather: but the beauty of the rainbow that follows? It is worth every tear drenched step." He offers his hand out. "Would you like to see that rainbow, Miss?"


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[Valtxr]

  Sharon saw his hand. Raised her head up. Ran her eyes up his arm to his face.
  It was either this. Or running.
  A chance.
  Or none at all.
  "I'm sorry. For...asking that." She nodded her head. Took his hand. Turned herself into his custody. Committed to this path, this one slim shot to find her way home instead of into a cell.
  "I think I will accompany you, Mr. Alveron."

[Wycliff]

Aven grins triumphantly as he gently grasps her hand, lightly enough that should she try, she could easily break the grip. The sight of a person making a choice to better their life always warmed his heart; it was this that let him believe in the good in people, that spark of hope that resides in every being, even in the face of all the true evil in the world. "Please, Aven is fine, Miss Marr. I am still under my father, Lord Alveron, I am hardly a 'Mr.'" He chuckles.
Aven begins to lead her down the street to the right, walking slowly and casually. He glances over to her as he walks, his helm still tucked under his other arm. His voice is a bit softer, as though he didn't wish anyone but her to hear his words. "So, out of curiousity, why did you not shoot me? My head was exposed, and I certainly could not have distinguished the motion of drawing your weapon to fire from you handing it to me."


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[Valtxr]

  Sharon allowed herself to be guided by Aven. She clutched his hand far harder than he held hers. Much harder than she would have liked.
  "Alright. Aven it is."
  For another fleeting moment, she allowed herself to believe that she wasn't under arrest. That this was something else entirely. That this moment had more than two possible ends.
  But Aven lowered his voice. Shared a question. An implied accusation. No doubts now. He knew. And she was back on the same narrow path. Trapped in her circumstance.
  As if the game wasn't already over, she continued her feigned innocence. Held onto the misguided belief that it would save her as tightly as she held onto Aven's hand.
  Her words felt wrong. Even as she said them.
  "What? Why would you even suggest that? I would never do such a thing. You've...you've got the wrong idea about me."

[Wycliff]

Aven sighs, letting the question go. He could hear the hesitation in her voice as she tried in vain to conceal any guilt. She must have been assuming he was trying to force a confession. "There's no need to be so uptight about this, Miss Marr. I was merely curious, it isn't as though I wanted you to shoot me." He faced his eyes forward. "I'd prefer you be honest with me. I'm not arresting you, I just want to understand what drove you to this path. You don't have the eyes of a monster, Miss Marr, there's a fear in them. I can tell, because I've met true monsters."
He glances back her way his eyebrow arched up in the middle, a genuine look of concern over his features. "I am the exception to the rule in the military, though. Almost any other personnel would either arrest you or execute you on the spot. The first step on this path is accepting your situation."


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[Valtxr]

  Sharon walked along in a state of shock. Just...who was this man? She'd had a number of incidents with authorities before. Most were with her father, when he was still around; some more recent. And none of them had gone this way, even in the slightest. In all cases, authorities were the enemy. A hard obstacle to overcome. A barrier to filling her stomach with a meager meal, a wall to putting decent clothes on her back. In all cases, they were the boot that kept her face pressed into the dirt of the world.
  Why not here? Why did the pattern not repeat itself, as it always had?
  He said point blank that he could see the fear in her eyes. And he was right.
  Aven had an endgame. Had to. Sharon couldn't imagine what it could be. His motives were inscrutable. Why take such a risk with her? Why not do his duty? Did he not have anyone who depended on him? Whose well-being hung on the condition of him keeping his job and providing for them?
  Sharon continued to walk down the street with him, her hand in his. Her thoughts kept her silent well past the appropriate timing of a normal response.
  Finally, she spoke up, the light rain threatening to overcome her quiet reply. "I...know someone. Who found something she was good at. Something that wasn't begging. Something that offered her some agency in life. Something that offered her some hint of...dignity...that she never had before."

[Wycliff]

Aven nods, glancing at an upcoming alleyway. "Life is not easy, I understand that much. When the world covers people in dirt, the muddy paths most would avoid become much more inviting: but those paths lead only to more filth, a stain that will inevitably mark one's very soul." He stops her abruptly before the alleyway, flashing a smile, releasing her hand. "Wait here a moment, I need to change. Can't very well visit a restaurant in full armor, now can I?"
He steps into the alley, briefly out of her sight for no more than five seconds, before impossibly reemerging in Noble garb, a black and silver embroidered suit jacket with matching pants, a short half-cape over his right shoulder emblazoned with the Alveron family crest: a flame surrounded by laurels. He rolls his shoulders absently, sighing relief, offering his hand once more. "Feels good to have that armor off. Shall we go?"


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[Valtxr]

  Sharon listened to him. Could feel his empathy as if it were a small, precious flame keeping her warm. His honesty, sincerity, kindness...he wore them all on his sleeve. And, despite herself, a flicker of admiration sparked in the back of her mind. A cruel turn of fate that their paths should cross as enemies. But there was no other way for the world to be. Everything in Sharon's life, everything in Aven's life, added up to this moment. This crossing only ever happened here, now. This one way.
  They stopped. Sharon swallowed. Closed her eyes. Perhaps all this was an elaborate ruse. Lower her guard. Perhaps it was time for Aven to do his duty. Put down a stray dog.
  But he didn't. Didn't draw his sword. Didn't cleave her in two.
  He let go of her hand.
  Spoke.
  She opened her eyes. Listened intently to every word he said. Incredulous. There was no way this was happening. She couldn't possibly have such luck.
  But she watched him follow through on his intent to change. Watched him walk away from her. Disappear into the alley.
  Pure instinct took over. And she ran.
  I'm sorry. I'm not that person.
  The rain pelted her face. She stomped through a puddle in the street, splashing rainwater up behind her. Her mind cleared. Any opposition to her flight were silenced. No better opportunity than this. Perhaps no other opportunity than this.
  She glanced over her shoulder. Yelped in surprise when she saw him. How...how was that possible? To be done so quickly? With only a few seconds headstart, she—
  No. Run. Run. Run.
  Just run.

[Wycliff]

Aven sighs, and steps back into the alleyway, reappearing out of an alleyway in front of her not ten yards in her dash, shaking his head. His eyes still hold the same compassion from before, but it is coupled with slight disappointment. "Don't be foolish, Miss Alexa. I want to help you, but I also cannot simply allow you to leave after killing three people."


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