#notyetassassin

“...Why aren’t you speaking to the others?”

It was an unconventional meeting.

She had been sitting in a tree, legs dangling and stomach rumbling, wondering what, exactly, was happening, and how to get back home. She spent the good portion of the afternoon just... wandering, without really understanding much about this place or the weirdos in it.

Everyone seemed so used to it. They couldn’t have all been taken, right? That was just, just impossible! What kind of magic could they have used to ensnare each and every single one of them, and how could they maintain a spell of that magnitude...? It didn’t make sense!

But, more importantly...

No, that guy looked poor as dirt... that one was paying too much attention... ugh, that one had a sword as long as she was. Seriously, who carries around something like that?

Almost every last one of them... looked too dangerous or too aware to pickpocket... and she was so hungry... ...

She groaned in frustration and punched the tree with her fist. Who around here was clueless enough to be her meal ticket?!

He swung in almost on cue, and the branch rattled with both of their weights, sending them both off balance. She quickly grabbed a hold of the tree, digging her nails into it like a cat, barely hanging onto the thing without really understanding what was going on.

“W-watch where you’re goin’, asshole!” She blurted out, reflexively. 

She didn’t even know if he had managed to stay on the branch.

notyetassassin

He sits in a bar, a glass of whiskey in hand. It’s in the corner of his eye--he thinks little of it, initially. His vision hasn’t been the most credible as of late...double vision, faded colors, blurs. A head of hair that resembled his own, nothing more. Voices gradually rise in volume, until a table falls to the ground, glasses of beer soon to follow.

He stands tall, prepared to shoot and fire at whomever dared to antagonize a child--but then, he realizes. Those fur garbs--

They wouldn’t have. No.

His eyes widen, his chest tightens, his breath slows and he finds that suddenly, he can see even the dust littered atop the wood of the counter. Everything is so vividly clear, so piercingly sharp the very second he sees that teenage boy.

He shows as blue.

He needs to distract him, he thinks. And so, he brings his hands to his lips, cupping them prior to yelling:

“<LOOK AT THAT DOG!>”

The rest merely stare, expressions bewildered all the while. He wastes not a single moment, his elbow forcefully jutting into the small of the other man’s back, followed by a twist of the neck. He grips him by the head, thrashing his face against and through a wooden table. A crack is audible--and he requires nothing more. He fingers grasp at the ear of the teenage boy, yanking him forward and out the door. They could fight, and with ease, he thinks.

But he doesn’t want him to. He doesn’t want him to fight.

He wants this lifetime to be a bit different, for a change. He settles atop his motorcycle, motioning his helmet towards the other.

“<Get on. Don’t complain and don’t ask any questions.>”