Whumptober 13 - Adrenaline “Alright. You gotta be careful what you say to him though. Guy’s real skittish, been burned before. He gets wind of anything big or dangerous going down? He’ll be gone. Jumpy bastard’s gone for weeks when there’s fighting, no idea where he goes. I reckon if anything real serious went down he’d never come back.”
He’s agreed to meet them in a public bar. It is raucous and dim, lit in red and purple through the simple hack of taping coloured film over the lamps. The occasional streak of brighter yellow-white is cast across the tables where the film is scratched or the tape has come loose. The low light is insufficient to conceal the layers of grime on every surface.
She sort of expects to find him sequestered at a back table, as far as possible from the noisy, often aggressive interactions of the other patrons. Instead he’s sat at the bar, posture relaxed despite the somewhat bellicose atmosphere. She starts to rethink her assessment of the fellow’s likely character.
He does look the part, though. Thin, shabby, ungroomed. Clothing hard-wearing and hard-worn, grubby, patched, and layered to leave little skin exposed. He doesn’t look up that she can see as they pick their way through the crowded room towards him, but neither is he surprised when they pull up a couple of stools beside him.
“You want something.” It’s very nearly a question. His expression is open, his slumped shoulders relaxed. There’s a ghost of a smile on his thin lips. But it doesn’t touch the eyes. And his grip on his mug is a fraction too tight. “Only if you want to do business,” she offers, trying to reassure him. She’s rewarded with another faint flicker of a smile. “I heard you sell charms?” “Oh, yeah.” His voice is steady, almost enthusiastic, but his hands tighten a fraction more. She’s not sure, in the dim light, but she thinks she sees a tremor. “What d’you need? You going to void? I can sort you out.” “It’s a bit more complicated than that,” she ventures carefully. He is watching her very intently. The facade of calm is thin. “Can you do, hm, could you protect a whole area? Like, bless it?” He’s gone very, very still, barely breathing. His expression is frozen into wary suspicion. She can practically hear his heart hammering from here.
“Hey,” she tries gently, “It’s okay, just a question.” And she reaches out to put a hand on his arm, trying to offer comfort. That turns out to be a wrong move. He’s up and off the barstool with more speed than she would have anticipated, backing away from her. “Woah -” she starts, but - “Don’t touch me!” he spits out, with more panic than anger. And he whirls on his heel and bolts for the door.
She starts to stand, intending to follow him, but the bartender gets her attention. “Hey, miss,” the woman says, and her tone is not friendly. “Leave ‘im alone.” “I didn’t mean any harm,” she protests. The bartender grunts. Beside her, her guide sighs. “Told you. Skittish. You won’t get a second chance, he’ll be gone now.” “Damn. Well. Now what?”
