aris jong

-I had to steal it from a military hospital, and when I got it it smelled like death. I've had to add a lot to hide the smell and taste, but it should be good. Or completely inefficient. Who knows ?

He had not forgotten that Sigyn read the future. He had a boundless faith in foretelling, but he mistrusted soothsayers carefully : simply because the discipline was about interpreting, and intepreting was about making choices. The same way Aris could paint a noble hero as an altruistic savior of humanity or a vain warmonger, Sigyn could turn anybody's destiny into heaven or hell, so long as the signs were vague enough to allow it. Aris was willing to believe Sigyn and learn from her, but he would not be led by the nose. The fact that she attempted it, even unconsciously, made his cheek burn with self-contempt. -That is called being interesting, he told Sigyn, unable to hide his vexation. He was tempted now, to lead the way out, show her he wasn't scared, finish the man himself if that's what it took, but then was that what she was doing ? Calling him a coward to push him to the task, using his pride against him ? Aris doubted she knew enough about people to attempt it, but he would never be sure, and besides whether she wanted it or not she would end up influencing his decision, and that was exactly what he was trying to avoid. Influence. What would he do if she wasn't there ? Well, to begin with, he wouldn't have come to this disgusting bar to test out poisons. But he could not undo the situation entirely. What would he do if he was sitting, doing nothing, and he knew there was a man dying in the alley ? He would go and watch, probably, have a curious glimpse at death. It was good material, after all. The graphic description Sigyn added both to his repulsion and interest, but either way his mind was made. It's not like anyone there would accuse them : half the customers were as drunk as the target, and the rest probably abided by Barrel rules, the first one of them being mind your business. It had just been a half-hearted argument to push back the inevitable. He got up from his chair before saying without even giving her a look : -Let's go, then. If you want it so bad. It's not like anyone really cares. He beat her to the door, which he pushed slowly : through the crack he made, he caught sight of the target's feet. He was either laying on the floor or sat against the wall. Probably not feeling well. Aris turned and looked at Sigyn : the heat that had burned his cheek before had gone, and he felt cold to the point of sickness.

Matthias was doing his best to intimidate him, but Aris did not frighten easily -especially with someone who he'd been so unvoluntarily close to for a long time. Matthias could be ten feet tall, running after him with a great hallbard, Aris could still name ten stupid arguments that they'd had off the top of his head, about the temperature of the room, Aris moving in his sleep, Aris talking, Aris in general, so any fear factor was just...gone.Being annoying was a weapon, a fickle one, but with Matthias' short temper Aris barely had to try. -Just because it's you, I'll stop, he said with a nod. Aris almost wanted to act vexed that Matthias had to ask why he was there, but after all he'd asked the question himself. He was not talentless, it was sure, but the Dregs united some rather exceptional people -it was hard to compare. Brekker's lack of transparency had left Aris wondering if he knew more about him than anybody else knew, and in the end that was the answer to everything. Everyone among them was walking a very thin line between accomplished and weak -if they were not accomplished they were useless and if they did not have a weakness they were disobedient. Possibly someone more talented had been considered before Aris, but crossed off the list, in favor of him, so ruined he didn't even own the clothes on his back. -What he wants from everyone, Aris finally said, knowingly avoiding the full question. Service. You've been here so much longer than I, you should know by now.

Aris frowned upon hearing Manu speak of his work so negatively. Not that the critique wasn't deserved, it absolutely was. Aris was still so confused by the attempt that he was tempted to reach out and turn the paper over, just so it wouldn't be in the corner of his eye anymore. No, simply he thought it unseemly to be so public in his self-critique. It was like falling in the middle of a crowded street and bursting into tears instead of getting up and leaving the scene. Childish, defeatist, useless. -Failure is part of the game, Aris finally said, cutting his disdain out of his tone to seem more supportive. It happens to everybody, so it's not personnal. The good thing with his talent for storytelling was at least this : if he could not convey something properly, it was not a lack of talent, but a problem of language. Kerch was so narrow, after all, he sometimes complained despite not being knowledgeable enough about any other language to make a proper comparison. Yet. He could make up needlessly long words to express stupidly melodramatic notions, and at least the language has been infected by enough international trade to contain some foreign words for more color, but once a man in Hellgate told him that words in Ravkan had no grammatical nature. Aris had since learned that it was not the case, but he had become obsessed with this impossible language where there were no verbs, pronouns, determinants, but simply words. The sentenced freed from grammar and syntax, simply a string of ideas, the message in its purest form. A beautiful dream, as impossible as Manu's proteiform man. -Genius does work, Aris agreed, nodding encouragingly before drawing Manu's attention to the gambler and the Kaelish accent. He had completely forgotten about Manu's origins, but clearly he had knocked on the right door -at least he would get proper feedback. Himself being limited by language, he forgot that many in the Dregs had the small luxury of being born outside of Ketterdam.He listened to Manu's offer attentively, but at first only reacted with : -I wish my next job would involve singing sailor's songs. The deal interested him, of course, but he was still thinking about the drawing. Manu's clear desire to change him the subject made him believe the shame extended beyond his perceived lack of talent. It was not on purpose, probably, but still Aris wished to know more, as if he would be the one to overcome Manu's difficulties for him. Following his jab about the gambler being one of the faces, Manu answered simply, giving another admission of failure. His evasiveness bothered Aris, though he knew he couldn't punish him for it. Aris was smart enough to understand that the more he explained things, the more he removed from them, or rather, the more of them he hid. It was like building a house from the ruins of a manor. He could pile mounds and mounds of words around the drawns faces, assign them meaning, characters and stories, but in the procress the trait would be obscured, to the point if Aris saw them in real life he wouldn't even think of recognizing them. But that was the only talent he had, and the only way for him to own things. So he could not keep himself from doing it, and admired people who could respect mystery, and kept doing it still. The tragic ballad of self-indulgence. -You'll dream about this again one night, for sure. Or maybe the faces, separately, and it'll all come back in a flash. It's like that, usually. Like having a word on the tip of the tongue. Straightening his back, he'd moved closer to Manu, to look at the drawing again and then give him a look, not knowing what exactly he was saying, but hoping to get enough a reaction to tell if dreaming of this again was a threat or a kind promise to Manu. It was so easy for the face to betray the unconscious, easier than it was through words. -Then you'll be able to tell me all about it, Aris concluded. What kind of obscene story do you want, exactly ?

Aris struggled to keep to himself another give it time when Sigyn complained in response to his joke. He could hardly give lessons on patience, but he did not enjoy the mood she was setting. He was already uneasy to begin with. It had always been easy for him to turn his back on the suffering of others : it was, after all, a necessary skill. Hell, in the Barrel it was almost noble. To know to keep to oneself. To cause the suffering of another, he was surprised to find, bothered him much more than he had expected. There was an intimateness to the act which reminded him of his occupation, and he was unable to lay hands on someone without associating the two. It was the skin-to-skin, probably. He could have taken to wearing gloves, but that look was already taken, so poison was the next best option. Sigyn also made it easier. Something about her attitude, her logic, the fact that she approached it like a merchant approached a sale or a doctor a surgery, made it seem like a simple option, when before death and murder were much more removed from Aris' daily life, though not completely absent. He had know enough criminals to know that it was all in there : how possible the crime felt. Murder amongst merchers was rare not because they behaved better, but simply because nobody knew anybody that had commited a murder, because there were so few guns at hand, and so many Stadwatch so close. But in the Barrel, most people filled these conditions. And in the Dregs...well, it was uncommon and frowned-upon to be an innocent at all. -How pretentious of you to presume the plans of destiny, Aris said. He did believe her. It was clear she planned on making her prediction come true no matter what. True destiny was for prophets and martyrs only. He was about to vocalize something of the sort when he was called to silence by movement at the bar. He watched the man stumble out the same way anybody considered a drunk, with a vicious mix of pity and disdain -I've never been that drunk. Sigyn was not thinking the same thought, Aris could tell from her voice alone. -You are aware that this would look suspicious to a blind man ? The strategy he had thought of first was simply to argue long enough with her to give the man his chance. But he had to admit her excitement was enticing him. No one could anticipate so badly something that was so terrible -there had to be some enjoyment found in it, and the only way he would figure out where it was was through her eyes, her pleasure. -I could slip him another drink when he gets back, Aris added, giving them one last chance to call it off. Whatever you judge is smarter.

Aris had had quite the night. Out early, he had run into an old acquaintance and spent the night with them at a table laden with food and drink, gotten a promise of another meeting, and eventually they parted after Aris had kindly alleviated him from the weight of his purse. He came back to the Crow Club pockets heavy, head set on one last drink before bed. That was when he ran into another old acquaintance. The evenings in East Stave were getting repetitive. As Matthias met him between the gambling tables, blocking his way, Aris stopped, and then took a step back. He was impressed. Not to see Matthias, his name had been mentionned before by the crows, though  in a evasive way that had kept Aris from asking more questions without revealing they were acquainted. But to see him like this -Hellgate Matthias had just been normal Matthias to him. Emaciated, smaller, irritable...he was still irritable, but had returned to a shape that seemed more coherent with his skills as a fighter. -You would know, Aris finally said with a smile. I would not be here had you not been such a good investment. Though he was proud of the retort, Brekker's words did taste sour in his own mouth. Though Aris' thoughts often echoed similar sentiments, he disliked talking about people this way. Especially in their presence. Matthias had seemed wound-up before this. It would not help pacify the first conversation they were having as free men. Aris was convinced he had done his best to get along with Matthias in Hellgate, but then again, maybe his best was not as good as he'd hoped, and either way things had not ended well, and Aris had been quite offended to learn the Fjerdan had ran away without him. They had not been close friends in any shape or form, but still. But there was no need to go back to these animosities. Aris didn't think so. But he knew Matthias tended to hold onto grudges like a dog with a bone. It was so tempting, though, to tease him, test him again, and the only dynamic they knew. Even though the chances of him getting beat up were much greater now, with no wardens around, Aris could not resist it. -You would not believe how much I've missed you, Aris said to Matthias with his own voice. It came back naturally -it was one of the first voices he'd learned to put on. Before bunking with the Fjerdan he had not spent a lot of time with foreigners and had no idea how much of a knack he had for accents. He had at least that to thank Matthias for.

As he listened to Manu's explanation, Aris tilted his head this way and that, hoping that maybe the right angle would make everything clear, the same way stained-glass windows only made sense at specific times of the day. But no angle was doing it and the story didn't help, either, though it intrigued Aris enough to convince him that maybe there was some good conversation to have at the club tonight. He wouldn't leave just yet. -Weird could describe it, he said finally. He pulled a chair and sat down next to Manu. The drawing was still in the corner of his eye. The other word that came to Aris' mind was mess, but he decided to attribute it to his own unfamiliarity with the image, rather than a lack of talent in Manu's part. It was a hard thing, after all, chasing down, pencil in hand, what your own brain was determined to hide for you. Aris had tamed his own dreams a long time ago, as they were a prime source of inspiration, but it necessitated a systematic and ruthless self-inspection that many were not readu to put themselves through, it was long questionning and complete honesty. Was the shirt left open or had the guy opened it ? Was the skin really grey or was it the night working its usual color tricks ? How many faces ? At what rate did they switch ? Did they make a sound ? Was it one face vanishing and the other slowly appearing in its place, or a sudden change ? Did it seem painful for the man ? Was he even conscious of it happening ? Every question opened out a new possibility, branches and branches of it : cursed man or nightmarish monster. Probably Manu had not cleaned up his options before getting pen on paper, and that was what confused the shapes. Aris laughed with him at his comparison. -There you have it. If you keep calling it an octopus, people will believe you're the next great master no questions asked. And no more practice will be necessary. You'll be free ! Clearly the change of name would not be enough to make Manu satisfied with the drawing, but there was not a lot more Aris could do to help, except talk him through it. When Aris was about to say he was bored to death, his mother's voice came up in his head. Only boring people get bored. -I am working on my Kaelish accent, thanks to him. He waved his hand in the direction of one of the gamblers occupying the table he'd been sitting close to before. He was currently counting his last gains and bragging about how he never lost, which was the best way to lose the next game. Anger was a powerful motivator in the Barrel. -Very talkative. Excellent practice, Aris said. The Kaelish had a way of rolling their r's, long and round but soft, barely saying them, which Aris could reproduce in the moment, with a direct example, but could not keep the movement of on his own. It was a good skill to work on, but it was not half as weird or interesting as Manu's dream. -You think he could've been one of the faces ? He asked, hoping to prompt more reflexion.

Though through experience Aris had found out that talkative people tended to make people more talkative, every so often he would run into a wall. Someone who hated talking and hated him for talking, too. There were more walls than usual in the Dregs, Sigyn being one of them, but Aris did not mind them. He preferred them, in fact : after all he only really made conversation with others to be able to think out loud, and people who left him all the room to do that earned his admiration easily. Which led to him pursuing them more, and them hating him more in turn, though the process had been somewhat inverted with her, and they ended up closer than Aris would have expected them to. Their getting-along was not completely disinterested, though : it provided them with these little moments of experimentations, when Sigyn had some poison to demonstrate and needed an administrator. Aris was conscious he needed a little bit more than good lies to maintain his place in the group, and learning the use of a weapon especially was a needed improvement. Sigyn was the master, though sometimes it was clear she was not the most qualified in Ketterdam, either. As the babbling drunkard they had both been staring at for the past half-hour proved. Aris did not mind the wait, though the suspense was getting to him. He had ran out of positions to sit in comfortably and still have a clear view on the target, and the bench was too stiff to sit on for so long, anyway. It seemed to bother Sigyn too, as she muttered remarks and theories without arriving at any kind of clear conclusion. Probably the concoction was just a failed attempt or they had just picked the one subject that was mysteriously immune to the active ingredient. Who knew ? Poisons worked in mysterious ways. At least they still did to Aris. Sigyn finally gave into her impatience and looked to Aris to up the ante. He immediatly frowned at the suggestion, for practical reasons : -He's not drinking anymore. Do you want me to force it up his nose ? The man had been holding on to the same mug since they'd administered the dose, in fact. Probably his subconscious had tasted something and warned him off, or he was somehow still responsible enough drunk to think of saving money and refrain from ordering another drink. The only way Aris was getting more into him at this point was by paying for the drink himself, and that was a little too obvious, even for him. Sigyn still pressed on. He turned to her, eyelids lower, whispering back with a tinge of mockery : -I'm sorry, did you make other plans ? The long wait had turned the test into a challenge -for her there would be no walking away until there was a body. But the whole situation was stuck. Probably Aris would have more luck convincing her to give it up than getting a drink for their little test subject. -I'm of the mind that if you're lucky enough to survive such a dose, you deserve to live. Just as a reward from fate, you know ? he said, hoping to tug at her heartstrings with talk of destiny. We'll have a better shot with somebody else. Don't you think ?

Aris had performed most of the mindless tasks he was used to putting his mind to, a habit inherited from his mother that he reconnected with in Hellgate. He'd counted the people there and the number of empty glasses, read every label on every bottle put up against the wall, tried to sort out the players by countries and memorized their accents, every result of every little chore immediatly leaving his head as he started on with the next, straining not to look at his worst enemy, the clock. Though he was used to waiting, he had also gotten used to giving into his boredom. No matter how many fingers he counted, he wouldn't lose sight of himself, and of the fact that in a few moments, he would break down, head out and go do something that would get him reprimanded at some point or another. The more he focused on the voices outside, the voice inside his head counting, the letters on the labels and the colors in the corners of the cards, the more the rest of his vision seemed to blur into darkness. Something behind his thoughts seemed to tick, and the air, bursting with opportunities of small rewards, crowded around him, tickling his back and obscuring everything else. His hand tensed up on the glass (of which he had counted every chiseling) and then let go. He got up and made his way to the door, stopping for a second as he had forgotten which arm was going into each sleeve first. The struggle with his coat was at its height when he caught sight of a blonde head in the corner. He doubted a conversation, even with someone who didn't seem too much annoyed by him, would be enough to keep him put the rest of the night. But then again, it cost him nothing to try. The fishes weren't leaving the Barrel anytime soon. He let go of his godforsaken coat and walked as silently as he could toward the corner where Manu was sitting in his usual position : head bent over a piece of paper, gripping a pencil with the strenght of a dead man. -What is that ? Aris asked as he leaned slightly over his shoulder. He'd barely gotten a look at the paper -it was just manners to announce his appearance, after all. He didn't take a step back once he was noticed, simply smiled, and added : -Don't tell me you've been scribbling all night. How much practice do you need ?

Aris could've lied his way into a nicer restaurant, but he didn't feel like walking, and he didn't feel like Jozef had earned such a show of force yet.

Fear was a word that had long escaped Aris' vocabulary, so when he felt it it was always accompanied by surprise, and a fleeting moment of nostalgia -oh, so this is was it was like. It was closer to the morning than the evening : Aris had spent his night roaming the Barrel and had come back to an empty room, empty except for the one that had been causing him a few of these fearful moments. He stood on the threshold for a second, hesitating on whether or not to give up on his vain endeavor, getting a drink before going out again, or going to sleep, or going to bother someone more important until he'd get told to do something. But apparently this morning it was only the both of them. The heroes in his stories were always brave, and not because Aris made a point of making them so ; he had simply grown up with the wariness of one who deals with dangerous people everyday -it was as present and yet unnoticeable as his breathing. He needed to stop and think if he wanted to feel it, and slowing down for anything was not in his habits. But this one seemed to be able to make it surge without even the slightest movement. Before joining the Dregs Aris had only known him by a patch of skin caught in the moonlight, a wave of the sleeve before his disappearance, the body he'd left behind. For a long time his silhouette has been the stuff of dreams and nightmares, as fear always held hands with awe : the quiet terror of getting his throat slight in his bed and dying wordlessly mingled with the envy of being important enough to be wanted dead. Seeing him again was a good thing, Aris told himself. He liked to make a point of dissipating his fear -it was always a nice ego booster. So he took once step in the room and engaged. Every once in a while it was good to be reminded that reality was so much less disturbing that anything the mind could make up.  The same way a good painting only shows a monster's sharp, shining claws rather than the whole body. Aris had seen the claws, he was seeing the body, he just had to keep it engraved in his mind and shake off the cold dread that always accompanied the sight of the man -he wanted to make an effort to call him properly, make him little and imprison him in his own name, but even this didn't seem to work, and the name always escaped him, anyway. Unsure of how to say hello without this, he let go of convention entirely, and barely nodded at the man before making his way into the room, looking for the bottle he had hidden before leaving the Club last evening in search of some cheap target and quick fun. He couldn't find it, and he couldn't tell if it was because someone else had found it before him or if had simply forgotten the precise place where he'd left the thing. And all the while, these burning eyes on him. It felt wrong to turn his back on the man, but he still had to search. A second, hesitating, he turned and stared directly, brows furrowed, unable to see anything, blinded by his own illusions. Then he made a face as well as he could, as well as he dared, something that said « leave me alone » but not too loud. A face he could deny having made if he needed to.