#ragexfilled

Julius stood out in the crowd. Clad in a white overcoat seemingly untouched by dirt, polished shoes, well tailored waistcoat, jeweled bolo tie around his neck, and a well made leather glove truly set him apart from the common folk. While in the upper streets of Trigleph, he would gain a few glances, some from his attire, and some in recognition of his position, down in the slums this look netted him a few hard stares. He wasn’t one of them.

But over a decade ago, he was. And he knew the struggle.

He stopped in his tracks, and bent down to the kid’s level. “Hey, you look like you could use a little something to eat.“ Julius held out an untouched sandwich and apple. “My brother made a bit too much for me, so you can have it.“

        He’d grown used to the solemn silence of the dead forest and shallow mountain. Known company only to be the awkward scrapping and squeaking of the rotted, wooden panels that held together the abandoned cabin he called home in the same sense that a corpse calls a grave its house. And found crowded to be the fleeting feeling that hung over him when the wind threatened to fell the trees that surrounded him; to bury him beneath their decaying bodies and broken faces. He knew loud to be the sound of Grima’s deep, scratchy voice as it echoed through his mind on constant repeat, but he didn’t know it to be the cacophony of countless voices all meshed together in one place (at least not anymore, when the only ally he had was the Fell Dragon that made its presence known within him and not when the kingdom would sooner have his head than listen to his tongue as it spewed hopeless banter none would believe).

           Needless to say the hustle and bustle of Southtown felt disturbingly foreign to him. He had recalled the brief time he had spent in the overcrowded village years ago when he had first stumbled upon the Shepherds (or rather they had found him), but it was little more than a distant memory now that the war was behind them and Robin no longer held a place in this world. He wouldn’t normally dare wonder into a city of all places, but he was running low and supplies (and there was only so much he was capable of on his own with one foot in the grave and a body that was under the constant stress of slowly being torn apart from the inside out). And Southtown had changed in that time, or rather, it had come to thrive. The open streets and small businesses Robin had recalled were now filled to the brim with people he knew hadn’t resided there years ago.

            Subconsciously he tugs down on the golden hem of his dark hood in an attempt to shelter the curved horns that sat atop his head and the ugly purple scales around his eyes from view more than they already were. But no one paid him any mind, he was just another a forgettable face (oh if only they knew) in a crowd of nameless travelers, merchants, and villagers alike (despite the tomes that lay hidden beneath his cloak and the old sword that was kept beneath a layer of fabric that made it unnoticeable).

            He had to remind himself to breathe; to keep his thoughts from distracting himself when he had little interest in lingering about longer than needed (just grab a few month’s worth of supplies and get out). But sensitive ears had a habit of slotting forward beneath his hood to pick up bits and pieces of conversations that he had no place in, and sometimes it was hard to tame his curiosity when he had heard nothing but the muted conversations of the knights who hunt him of the comrades he had once adored (but he should have killed his affection for them when Grima would allow none to remember him; he was only making things harder by involving himself). 

             Trying to shut the noise outside of his own head down, he pressed a hand against the hard cover of the tome buried beneath his cloak to reassure himself before continuing down the packed street, ignoring the voices that seeped into his pointed ears like a poison. Or, so, he told himself, but the angry calls of agitated men stood out like a violent crack of thunder that refused to be ignored. And even as he neared the source, he tried to swallow his worries; there was a crowd that had formed like some mindless mob around something Robin couldn’t see (though he could have had he dared open Grima’s eyes in public). He assumed it to be a fight; perhaps an argument gone wrong, and tried to convince what remained of his human heart to leave it be (it’s none of his concern after all). 

           But something didn’t sit right with him, and before he can stop his feet from dragging themselves towards the crowd, he’s in the heart of it. And he knows he should keep his mouth shut when their anger could so easily turn against him (when their rage could have so easily forced Grima to reveal himself and end their lives), but the scene looks something more akin to a beating than some inane fight, and he can only sallow his tongue for so long when the memories of former comrades who would have never forgiven him float through his head like some sort of sickness (and they might as well be at this point).   

@ragexfilled || meme. || accepting.