Market day was always a busy affair in Arca. It was crowded, noisy, and even at times smelly. However, to opportunists like Ocarern, it was the perfect time for hunting. The petite elf silently made his way through the thick throng. His eyes darted seemingly causally about as he surveyed the possible prey.
Spotting a portly gentleman, heavily sweating despite the autumn breeze and nervously touching his side, Ocarern evaluated a plan of action. Deciding quickly, he slowly ambled his way over to the rich man. Appearing to be examining some fruit, the elf allowed himself to be jostled by other customers so that he bumped into his intended target.
With the practiced speed of a well-versed thief he relieved the other gentleman of his purse. Smiling slightly from the weight of the contents, he slipped it into his cloak. Placing the fruit back on the stand he shook his head and moved on, attempting to melt back into the crowd.
Today would have been a good day for rain, Leslie thought. The plants whispered to him of dryness, their voices soft and cracked like a riverbed whose water had long abandoned it. It made him sad, and terribly thirsty. Just by listening to them he could feel his windpipe shriveling, his tongue growing scratchy and tasting funny.
Would it hurt to make it rain, he wondered, his plea going to a being that he shouldn't have even known existed. Just a little, so the plants would stop wailing like ghosts, hissing in his ears?
But the sky remained clear, the sun bright, the air dry.
She could make it rain if she wanted to, he knew. Had done it before when he'd asked or needed it. Had even made it snow on him in the middle of summer out of spite for a light-hearted jest toward her being unaware of what he wanted at times. With today being Market Day, however, Shea appeared to have other plans, and those plans did not involve the flowers of Arca. Sadly.
Pouting a little, Leslie glanced around at all of the city folk. It was hard to care about plants when there were so many brightly colored people about. Arca boasted a wide assortment of nobility, and those were often the most attractive. He could buy himself a new frock today, one to match his periwinkle eyes.
Currently he wore blood-red silk, the lightest material he had for this heat. Autumn came slowly in Arca--the summer sun still blazed on the inhabitants. He had his hair pulled back in a matching ribbon which he'd tied into a neat bow.
Up ahead stood a young man, not too catchy in appearance except for his boyish features. Leslie had not met many elves in his lifetime, but he knew when he saw one, and this fine specimen with his pointed ears and rounded face was definitely of elven descent. Even hidden under a hooded cloak, Leslie knew.
And he had such an enticing pulsation to him: one of secrecy, ambition. Hard not to recognize the sure-tell signs of a thief. But this young man was not cruel, no. Simply getting by.
Survival was a funny thing, making moral codes change.
Leslie watched as the elf went about his business, snatching a large man's coin purse with the ease of practice, and then trying to sneak his way out of the situation, none any the wiser.
Except Leslie.
He waited until the elf was some yards away, following him at a short but non-suspicious distance, before confronting him. He came up behind the young man and put a hand to his shoulder to gently turn him around.
"Excuse me," he said, smiling. "But you wouldn't happen to know where a man might find a nice frock, would you, young man?"
The hand to his shoulder, sent Ocarern's heart racing like a bolt of lightning. His feet were almost ready to follow its fevered pace when he was turned to face a taller stranger. "No touchy!" he squealed alarmed.
'Red?' was the first thought that came to his mind. 'What emotion is this? Re-oh, wait. His clothes are red.' Ocarern blinked slowly, still staring up at the man. 'That's a lot of red. What does he want? Frocks?'
"Sir, you are asking the wrong person," he said slowly. Inside his cloak, the elf's hand moved to press against his hard earned coin-purse. He eyed the red clothed being up and down. "You seem far more knowledgeable in that respect. I'm sure you are smart enough to figure it out on your own. Now if you'll excuse me. I'll just be on my way."
'Mother what did I do to deserve this? I know I was stealing, but I didn't get caught. So why? Why! Why was it necessary to get me scared dead and have to suffer being touched?' The elf shuddered visibly as he moved to walk past the stranger to head back in the direction he had previously been leaving from.
Leslie pulled his hand away once the elf had turned, and could not help but beam upon seeing his face. The little "sir" given was icing on the cake.
"Oh, aren't you just adorable!" he squealed, pinching the boy's--or he looked to be a boy--cheeks and shaking his head to and fro. "No need for formalities, my darling little man. Call me Leslie, man of flowers and good taste." The elf reminded him of a young pup he'd seen in the streets once: doughy, soft, something Leslie wanted to take home and fawn over with love and noises of delight.
"How kind of you to say such a thing!" he then added, hands going from cheeks to the boy's shoulder as he tried to turn and leave. "I do have a knack for finding beautiful clothes, don't I?" That was something Leslie couldn't deny. "But I'm afraid I'm not from around these parts and all of the different stalls get me lost and confused. Some company would be lovely. Would you mind joining me? I might even be able to find you some nice clothes as well, something to match your fetching eyes, I think."
'What happens if I say I mind? This guy...touch me one more time boyo and I swear! Nice clothes, what's wrong with my clothes? I don't need clothes. But,' the elf looked the red man up and down, 'whatever it is that he is wearing has got to have cost a pretty sun. Nobody just throws that on unless for show. It's far too much of a monstrosity to have come cheap, only the rich wear things that gaudy.'
Still trying to extricate himself and unsure of his next move, Ocarern began to protest. "But, really sir, I couldn't help you even if I wanted to. I know nothing about what you are looking for, it would not be fair to either of us to waste our time. I'm sure you would have more luck without me." The elf took a small step back, warily watching the strange man. 'He touches me, and it's all over!'
Tinges of discomfort rolled off the elf in waves, and respecting these feelings, Leslie removed his hand from the elf's shoulder. There were better ways to persuade someone than to hang on to them, especially when the other didn't like it.
But, oh, how he wanted to pick this elf up and hug him, revel in his precious doll-like appearance.
"I can easily rectify the problem," Leslie said. "A frock is type of clothing. And enjoying the company of an interesting young elf would not be a waste of time! I couldn't think of anything more I'd rather do with my day. But," he lifted a finger as if in warning, though kept his tone joking, "please resist trying to steal from my person like you did that man back there. I'm not so easily duped."
Ocarern gave a small sigh of relief when he realized the other man was not about to touch him again. 'Enjoying time with an elf may not be a waste of your time, but what about mine! I can't just be your little puppy dog all day who follows you around and entertains you.'
His widened and the young elf nearly made to flee when he realized he had been caught. 'Is he blackmailing me? Is he trying to force me to follow him around so I can be his little pet servant boy? What if I don't go with him, will he alert the authorities? Bah! I could outrun them.' Yet, even as he thought it, Ocarern could already seeing the guards milling about, making the possibility of escape near impossible.
'What's the point? I don't go, he gets me caught. I do go, I waste the day ans starve. Then again...what if he is bluffing? I bet I could steal from him and he wouldn't notice. I will just have to be...on my best behavior!' Nodding his head and raising his hands up as if to concede, he could not help but smile. 'Not easily duped? We'll see about that.'
The elf was so . . . so jumpy, and it made him all the more adorable. For one as practiced in thievery as he was, the boy should have had more confidence. Maybe that's why Leslie liked him so much, besides his good looks.
Then the elf nodded at Leslie's request and the man clapped his hands in glee. "Excellent! Let's get started right away. I love shopping."
He gestured in front of him to indicate the boy should lead.
The elf rubbed vigorously at his forehead, hoping that by doing so he could rub away the bright colors rolling off the other man like rain off a thatched roof. 'He reminds me of the sky after rain, so bright and clear, painted with too many colors. I'm going to regret this, I just know it.'
Still casting leery glances towards the other man, he began walking again. "You have a strange idea of fun, choosing a thief to spend your time with over..." Ocarern let his words trail off and shrugged his shoulders. "Whatever you rich people like to do, I doubt it has anything to do with associating with my kind."
The elf's new suspicions rippled off his body in invisible crests. Leslie supposed he couldn't blame him; thieves needed to be on their guard at all times. But Leslie could see nothing that he had done that would warrant these suspicions, except maybe call the young man out on his thievery—but it had been the only way to get him to walk with Leslie through the stalls, and he did so want the company. Not to mention the urge to dress the elf up like a fun doll. The clothes he currently wore just wouldn't do—they screamed beggar.
"My dear friend," Leslie said, hand over his heart in feigned dignified pride as they passed the many stalls and people, "I find it insulting that you would think I would not want to be in your company simply because I am rich. And who's to say that I am? I might just have friends in high places, or I could be a thief like yourself, only I go for the wealthier finds, not coin purses from mens' pockets. Oh!" He put a hand out on the elf's shoulder to stop him, eyes on the stall beside them that boasted a wide assortment of colorful cloaks. "Let's browse this one, shall we? I think I see a nice green fleece that would look just splendid on you!"
He raised his brow in response to the other man's comments. "I know a thief when I see one, and you're no thief." The elf's cheeks flushed and he lowered his head in embarrassment. 'He is judging me. So what, you think I couldn't steal from wealthier men? Watch yourself, you could be next! Oh Kia! What have I got myself into?'
The stall the boisterous man was dragging him to was far beyond anything Ocarern could ever want or pay for. "And what would I do with a new cloak? There is nothing wrong with what I have. Spend your money on more worthwhile things," he stated monotonously. 'More worthwhile, can you even think of such a thing? You are more interested in clothes and fripperies than the people who slave to make them.' He mentally tsked. 'Humans!'
"Why, wear it, of course!" Leslie said in excitement. Really, who would ask such a question? The cloak the elf wore was fine in all respects, if the elf didn't mind looking like a hooded beggar, the sort of appearance no one would trust. Not only was it unsightly and unattractive, it just wasn't the sort of thing to where when an actual thief. Obvious, much?
He gave a reproving noise as he reached out and grabbed the green cloak that had first caught his attention. Not too bright, not too dull. It whispered of brilliance instead of shouting, and would go so well with the elf's earth tones.
It was then that Leslie nearly dropped the cloak in shock. "My dear!" he said, near to gasping. "I don't think I've gotten your name!" Horror of horrors, how rude of him! He turned to him, cloak clutched to his heart. "Mine is Leslie. And what might I call you?"
'Wear it. Of course! Why didn't I think of that?' Ocarern rolled his eyes behind the stranger's back. 'Who wouldn't want to wear such a noticeable, expensive monstrosity in my line of work? How stupid can this man be?'
The poor elf literally jumped at the now-named Leslie's squeal. His eyes widened in shock and he tried to back away quickly, only managing to bump into the vendor's cart. 'Name? My name? I can't tell him my name. What kind of fool does he take me for? If I tell him my name then he has all he needs to get my arrested and hanged. No siree, you ain't killin' me!'
"M-my name?" he stuttered, still unsure of himself. "Uh, wouldn't it uh best to uh not exchange names? I mean uh," Ocarern growled quietly under his breath and shook his head. 'This is why I don't talk to people! But, he seems so sincere, so harmless. His kind are why your parents died. Yes, but his colors they aren't wrong.'
"Farwind," he muttered through a defeated sigh. Ocarern's shoulders and ears drooped as he gave in. 'Is it really worth it to continue this? I'm just a doll to dress up for him. He knows your identity, your profession and your name. You will do as he wishes!' He could almost hear his mother's voice in his head reminding him that kindness goes a long way. 'But, I don't wanna,' his mind whined back. His conscience remained silent and unyielding.
With a pitying smile Leslie watched as the little elf backed away a little, still showing signs of nervousness. The behaviour was getting old. How could he make friends with the guy if he always had his guard up?
"Dearest Farwind," he said, trying not to roll his eyes. "Do calm yourself. If I was going to hurt you, I would have done so by now. And if I'd planned on ever turning you in to the authorities, I wouldn't go through all this trouble of trying to make friends. There are," he used an arm to gesture at the many uniformed men wandering the cobbled pathways, "many guards around. I could grab their attention any time I wanted. But I don't want to. No point."
My, wasn't he adorable acting like a lost little puppy, though.
He held the cloak out to Farwind, sizing it up against him. "Tell me about yourself, little Farwind. Besides what we already know."
He took a tentative step forward towards Leslie, his eyes never leaving the other man's. Something he saw though made him deem the words truthful and Ocarern nodded his head slightly. "There isn't much to tell beyond what you know. My name is O-Farwind and I'm an acquisition and redistribution merchant. There end of me. What about you? Do you normally accost merchants such as myself, scare them half to death and then try to clothe them?"
The elf was starting to relax if only a little bit at a time. He had decided to be wary but, wait until he was forced to no longer trust this strange man. 'By the time I have reason not to trust him, I'll be standing with my head in a hangman's noose!'
That's better. The elf was warming up to him. Sooner than expected, too.
"A merchant, hm?" He held the cloak up against the elf, as close as he could without actually touching him, then shook his head with a mild frown. No, no. What was I thinking? This won't do at all.
As he turned to put the cloth back and grab another, this one matching the man's eyes more than his skin and hair, he said, "I don't pull just anybody to the side and befriend them, though if I had the time to befriend everyone, I certainly would, no. I usually pay attention to those I find interesting enough, and you, my darling little elf, are plenty interesting."
He twirled around, a new garment in his hands, this one less flashy than the first. "What do you think of this one?" he asked excitedly.
Ocarern looked between the new clothing item and the individual holding it, skeptically. Unsure as to what to say, he remained silent for a pregnant pause. "Um, well it's nice, I guess." The elf shrugged his shoulders and tried to smile.
'What am I supposed to say? I could never wear that. Everything is to expensive. What would people who know me say when they see my clothes? Aren would never let me hear the end of it. He is always after me about my thiev-merchandizing. Oh, I should have run when I had the chance. This was a very bad idea. A very, very bad idea.'
Nervous and unsure, the elf shook his head, trying to clear it and in the process making his arms wobble about a great deal. Yet, when his head settled, his ears did not and returned to their excited state of wiggling. 'I wonder if he would let me try to steal from him, like a game.' A mischievous gleam appeared in his eyes as he looked towards the other man. "Do you like games, Leslie?" he asked innocently.
Leslie started to notice a strange habit the elf seemed to have: going silent for periods of time, as though talking to himself in his head. That couldn't be healthy. Did he have so little friends that his only companionship lie in himself?
The poor dear. Leslie kept his own thoughts to himself, masking his pity with his smile and warm noises of favor.
And then--he couldn't quite say what happened. The elf shook his head, then stopped, but his ears kept right on moving. It had to be one of the most ludicrous things Leslie had ever seen, and one of the most adorable. He almost dropped the garment in his hands in his excitement at this discovery, and only caught half of what Oca said next.
"Hmm? Games?" he asked distractedly, still staring at those darling little ears. "I do like a good game here or there, I suppose. Why?"
"Well I thought we could play one!" His eyes closed as he beamed in a very 'I am pleased with myself' manner. "You seem to gain a great deal of entertainment from our rendezvous at the moment. Unfortunately I have to say that at the moment I'm not finding it as captivating."
Finally taking note of his rebellious ears, Ocarern nonchalantly reached up to settle one of them. When it at last stilled though and he switched to the other, the first started up again. As he continued to talk he fought to keep both of his ears from dancing about like they were independent of him.
"It's just you seem so sure that you can catch me. If we made a game of it we would both be appeased. Every time you catch me going about my particular brand of merchandizing I must return it to you. However, if you fail to do so, well let's just say I have done my duty." He let go of his ears to cross his arms over his puffed out chest. Of course that was also the moment his ears really started wobbling erratically. The sensation of his hair moving back and forth had him looking up and over, crossing his eyes in the effort to see what was disturbing his hair.
The elf's countenance changed almost immediately, and not just a little change, either. It was as if Leslie were now speaking to a completely different person. No longer timid and wary, Farwind now came off as a child that had realized an important secret and gained boosted confidence from its confidentiality.
But, Leslie noted, it still proved hard to take the little dear seriously, especially when his ears were moving around as if with a mind of their own.
"I don't recall ever saying that I could catch you," Leslie said, putting his finger to his chin in thought as if to try and think back on having ever said such a thing. He knew he hadn't.
What put him out--only by a little--was that his new friend wasn't enjoying their current endeavor. He puckered his lips a little, pulling the shirt he'd picked out closer to his chest. "But I suppose we could play a game of tag if you really aren't enjoying yourself."
"Oh but you did!" Ocarern protested, his eyes widening innocently. He bit his lip in concentration as he recited back what Leslie has said to him when the elf had first been dragged off. "You said not to st-do my business with you because you are not easily duped. Yep that's what you said."
The elf nodded his head up and down, smiling proudly at remembering. But, even through his closed eyes he was able to see the small flashes of the weak blue of disappointment around the other man. Ocarern opened his eyes slowly, his boisterous nature depleting as his ears drooped.
'I made him go blue. He was so happy before and then this. Even if he is strange he-wait he's the one who kidnapped me why do I care? I ruined things again. Always ruining things. Stupid Oca. Stupid, stupid!'
"It's not that I'm not enjoying myself per se," he started hesitantly, refusing to make eye contact. "It's just what use do I have for such things. I could never pay you back nor wear them. It's silly really to pretend to be something we're not." The elf's cheeks flushed fully as he hid beneath his fringe. 'What an idiot, sharing words with a man who would never understand. Quite the pickle you've gotten yourself into this time. Just wait until Aren finds out!'
Oh, what a terrible little liar this elf was. It made Leslie smile despite himself. Even when he wanted nothing more than to get away, slip into the crowd never to be seen by him again, Farwind still felt guilt for having disappointed him. For some reason, that washed the slight feelings of sadness away.
"No, no," he said, putting the clothing he held down. "You're unhappy. Anyone can see that. I would love to play your game." Though he would have to convince him of new clothes eventually--the less a thief the elf looked, the less chance he would have of ever getting caught. "But how do I know you're not going to simply run off?"
Ocarern pouted at the funny man's question. "Already been caught. Can't run. You'll just get me really caught," he stated as if it made perfect sense. "I'm stuck with you until you're," the elf swallowed dryly, feeling very uncomfortable with the thought, "done with me."
He sighed, straightening his stance, ears finally still and arms once more at his sides. "If it truly would make you feel better if I lose am caught by you then I cannot refuse whatever thing you choose for me next. Does that make it better for you?"