um this is like the shortest thing i have ever wrote i have INSANE writer's block and school isnt helping so um yeah i guess..?
The rich aroma of beer and cardamom filled Mako's nose, wafting easily through the breeze along with grains of sand.
He moved through the crowd with practiced ease, slipping between merchants and customers as though he belonged among them. The smell of spices and roasted meat hung heavy in the air, mixing with the sharp sweetness of fruit and the smoke from cooking fires. Somewhere nearby, a musician played a reed flute, the tune rising and falling over the constant hum of bartering voices. Lined up gooseberries and figs on woven trays to be sun-dried making Mako's stomach growl with hunger, ready to eat. He just needed to be careful and get his food. He adjusted carefully his cap on his head, and his sash that was loosely falling from his shoulders already.
“Fresh flatbread!” a vendor called, waving the said flatbread around. “Still warm!”.
He slowed near the bread cart, pretending to inspect the baskets stacked beside it. The swaying overhang on top of the stall wisped around, flowing and sprinkling granules of sand around. The vendor was busy arguing with a customer whether the bread was oregano or pita bread. He honestly wouldn't have cared, bread is bread. On the top of the crates was a spare bread, gleaming in the sun, like it was daring Mako to take it and run away. A pomegranate and a date were placed beside it, looking like it had been waiting for him. He looked around, left to right. People were only focused on other things. Nobody was looking at him. Perfect.
In one smooth motion, his hand grappled the piece of bread and the fruits beside and quickly tucked it into the pockets of his harem shorts, hoping nobody would the food shaped lump in his on the side of his clothes. He turned from the stall, aiming for water with the last of his dinars. Still nobody had noticed. He'd stolen from this market may times before, but he never failed to do his careful precautions. He took one step, another step, and another before finally he was walking towards the water stall—
Mako winced. The vendor’s shout cut through the market noise like a knife, deafening any other noise made. People's heads darted toward the direction, focusing on where the vendor was accusingly pointing. "Thief!" The vendor bellowed. "Catch him!" Mako broke into a run. Customers and unsuspecting vendors scattered as he darted through the crowded square. He jumped over a crate of oranges, slid beneath a hanging rug, and nearly collided with a woman carrying a basket of pomelo. “Sorry!” he called over his shoulder, although he had a sneaking suspicion that the fruits and the woman was toppled over. He didn't suspect that the vendor's fight with the customer would end that soon. So much for the careful precautions. “Palace guards!” someone shouted, voice dripping with alertness and fake pity. Mako's heart dropped. He was not about to end up in cuffs just to eat.
Two guards pushed through the crowd, their bolos catching and reflecting off in the sunlight. “There!” one of them yelled. “By the spice stalls!” He could hear the people making way, and people pointing to where he was headed. He ran faster, picking up his pace to possibly outrun these guards. Mako patted the food that was being tossed around in his pocket, hoping that it wouldn't fall off while he was running, and sprinted down a narrow alley. The market noise faded behind him, replaced by the echo of his own footsteps and the heavy boots of the guards in pursuit.
“Stop!” a guard barked. Mako glanced back. There were more of them now. “That seems unlikely!”
He turned a corner and skidded to a halt. A high stone wall blocked his path, too smooth to climb quickly, and almost no rocks to get a hold of. Mako spun around just as the guards reached the mouth of the alley. “Well,” Mako said, backing toward the wall, “this is unfortunate.” The guards advanced, nonetheless. “Hand over the stolen goods,” one guard said, his voice sharp and official, “and surrender.” Mako held the loaf from his pocket a little higher, the warm crust pressing against his palm. “You’re really making me regret my lunch choices.” The other guard raised his bolo, glinting in the sun, ready to imprison him with force.
Then a shadow dropped from above.
A man landed between Mako and the guards with a heavy thud that sent dust curling around his boots. The alley seemed to tighten around his presence. He straightened slowly, broad-shouldered and calm, wearing an open vest while being barefoot. Mako couldn't see much of the stranger, facing his back in the dead end he ran into.
The first guard stepped forward, swaying his bolo to the right, the direction of the market. “Move aside.” The guard said, sneering at the man.
The guards looked far less intimidating from behind the stranger. Their uniforms were stiff with dust from the streets, and sweat darkened the fabric beneath their collars. The metal fittings on their bolos caught the sunlight and flashed sharply whenever they shifted. One guard narrowed his eyes, gripping his weapon so tightly that his knuckles turned pale.
“I’d rather not,” the stranger said, voice deep and low.
Before the guard could react, the stranger grabbed a hanging rope from the wall and pulled. A line of laundry collapsed into the alley, tangling around one guard’s spear. The cloth smelled faintly of soap and sun, and the trapped guard cursed as he tried to free himself. The second guard lunged, but the stranger caught the bolo shaft and twisted it aside with startling ease.
“Go,” he said over his shoulder.
Mako did not need to be told twice.
He darted past the stranger and scrambled onto a stack of crates, the wood groaning under his weight. From there, he caught the edge of a low rooftop and hauled himself up. Strong hands seized his forearm and pulled him the rest of the way. Mako found himself face-to-face with the stranger.
Up close, he was even more imposing. A faint scar ran along his jaw, pale against his tanned skin. His dark hair was tousled by the wind, and his eyes were a deep storm-gray, edged with blue when the light caught them.
“You’re welcome,” the man said. Mako recovered enough to smirk. “I was doing fine on my own.” The man raised an eyebrow at him. Below them, the guards shouted in frustration. Their voices echoed up the alley, mixed with the clatter of weapons and the scrape of boots against stone. Mako sighed. “Fine. Mostly fine.” The man laughed, a warm, low sound that didn't seem fitting to his appearance.
“Come on,” the stranger said. “They’ll search the lower roofs first.” They ran across the rooftops, leaping over narrow alleys and ducking beneath lines of drying laundry. The fabric brushed against Mako’s face as they passed, smelling of soap, dust, and sunlight. The city stretched around them in shades of gold and sand, rooftops stacked like uneven puzzle pieces beneath the fading afternoon light. Mako kept pace, though he had to admit the stranger moved with surprising agility for someone so broad. His steps were sure and measured, each jump controlled rather than reckless.
After several winding turns, they reached a quiet rooftop overlooking a small courtyard. The market noise had faded to a distant murmur. Somewhere below, a fountain splashed softly, and the scent of jasmine drifted upward from a nearby garden. He could no longer hear the shouting voices of the guards in pursuit of them.
Mako leaned against a chimney and caught his breath, closing his eyes for just a moment. The wind ruffled his shirt and cap, while the piece of bread was still clinging on to his hand. The stranger folded his arms. “You have a habit of attracting attention.” Mako opened his eyes, and mumbled something about dropping from the sky.
Mako eyed him carefully. “Why did you help me?” The stranger considered the question. “Well, for starters, you were in a dead end, getting chased by guards.” Mako had no answer to that. But he questioned this person. Nobody would really help a street rat escape. Some people would even hand him over, taking his bread and other food.
“You’re not from here,” Mako said. “No.” The stranger admitted. “Traveler?” Mako asked, frowning at him. “Sometimes.” The stranger replied. “That doesn't clear anything up.” Mako said, his hand reaching to his pocket to see if the pomegranate and dates were still there. Nothing. The stranger chuckled. “My name is Tonraq.” The sun was at full shine now, illuminating Tonraq's hair. “Mako.”
Tonraq nodded toward the loaf still tucked under Mako’s arm. “You going to eat that?” Mako hesitated, then broke the bread in half and handed him a piece. Tonraq accepted it with a small smile. “Thank you.” They ate in silence for a moment, watching the city below. The bread was still warm, and steam curled faintly from the torn center. Mako could taste the salt and yeast on his tongue, simple and satisfying after the chaos of the chase.
“You know,” Mako said, “most people would have taken the bread and left me to deal with the guards.” Tonraq tore off another piece. “Most people are foolish.” Mako glanced at him sideways. “You sound very certain about that.” He broke off another piece, throwing it in the air and catching it in his mouth. "I've had practice."
Something in Tonraq’s expression softened, and Mako looked away before he could stare too long. It was ridiculous, really. He had known the man for less than an hour. “So,” Tonraq said, “where do you usually hide when the guards are chasing you?” Mako grinned despite himself. “If I tell you, it won’t be a secret anymore.” Tonraq leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Then I suppose I’ll have to earn your trust.” Mako’s pulse skipped in a very inconvenient way. “Maybe,” he said, aiming for casual and landing somewhere near flustered. Tonraq smiled.
For the first time in a long while, the city below did not feel quite so lonely.
ouu shii LOL this has liek three chapters so YEAH
