Precipice
How could Ul'dah be so dark at night, yet so vibrant with color just behind? Standing outside near a lamppost in the Goblet was like standing at the edge of the world.
He looked down over the stone railing. Utter darkness. Even his eyes, accustomed to seeing well in very little light, were lost in those untold depths. A lot like looking into…
He banished those thoughts. He had to banish too many thoughts lately. It was sloppy. He had finally earned his freedom from Balthazar's Favor. The blood contract was burned. Why had his first few months of freedom ended with him feeling utterly trapped?
First the murder bird. Always the murder bird. Hovering. So infuriatingly indifferent. Precious, but cold and distant. Out of reach no matter how close, able to hover there. Teasing.
Then the hawk. Brilliant, powerful, regal. Halone incarnate. His doom and salvation. The problem with hawks was they soared. Too high and too far sometimes. His paws were on the ground. Did he need to soar?
He took a step up onto the ledge. He held the lamppost. Leaned. Felt the wind in his hair. Was this his problem? Did he need to try to fly with them all?
He did fly now. Or, well, flew but always crashed. He was learning. Enough to fool a fellow fox, right? Maybe not, but at least be tolerated. Enough to convince a Captain? Enough to train a prospective skilled student? Enough to trick even himself? Did he actually like his crew? It was just another scam, wasn't it? He could quit any time.
The Gallery had grounded him. Whether a snake, a gecko or some kind of frightening goddess, he felt emotionally raw from his experiences there.
Why did it have to awake the past? Why now after… is that why I can't focus? Is that why all this…
More thought-stamping-down was needed. He need to crush those thoughts, actually. He did so again. He lied to himself as well, since immediately the thought came, unbidden and unwanted.
Had that song really made me weep…?
He turned back to look at the manor. Almost a castle. The Outlaw had left. The Samurai had not. Was he staying the night? What was going on!?
Why did it matter? Excellent question. Normally this would be a good thing. Another fun puzzle or inconvenient complication to unravel. He could work with it. Show the world how clever he was. Be worthy of Oschon and ascend perhaps to levels no one ever dreamed.
He leaned over the edge, holding on to his only light. He looked down. It wasn't like glimpsing true beauty and losing it the next instant in the darkness, in the rain. No. It was close perhaps?
Ascend. To fly was another way to ascend.
A Murder Bird, a Hawk, and now… what? The dress. A Magpie. Magpies steal. What did this one steal, friend?
Please be quiet, voice. Please. It's just a job. This is what I do. It's what I live for. Helping poor citizens… like myself! It's just a job. Besides, I am the one who steals. I am the one who takes.
More than one voice in his head was a bit much.
He could fly. That might be the problem, right? All these feathers, maybe he needed to flock together.
Is that it? Was that the answer? He began to glance over his shoulder to see if the Samurai had left and stopped himself. Instead, he closed his eyes and teetered on the edge. One finger let go, then a second.
He'd let his mother down. Killed her. He'd tried to never let that happen again. Inaction was impossible. It was time to act, to let go, to…
His hand slipped and he flailed on the ledge… pinwheeling his arms, only to throw himself back and grab the lamppost like it was a lover he had almost known in the rain.
"Swiving hells I don't want to die, I want to LIVE!" he suddenly exclaimed into the pitch black. He laughed, possibly a tad manically, and perchance a bit desperately. However, he did laugh. When all is said and done, that had to amount for something, didn't it?
He grunted and hopped of the ledge. He was such a fool sometimes. Straitening his vest and running a hand through his hair, Argent looked back at the manor house. He would not let this get the best of him. That was a hen house. Who cared if magpies roosted? Certainly not this fox.
He spun about and walked purposefully into the night, away from the dark abyss of the cliff and into the twinkling lights of the Goblet he wanted to gulp from now. This evening would be about forgetting so that he could focus. He wouldn't come back from that glowing life until he could barely walk. Maybe he'd be carried.
He didn't just want to live. He wanted to dance. Feathers be damned.