► Armistice ◄
In a world of societal trench warfare
In a world of societal trench warfare
A sling of light cracked through the darkness of the corridor, causing a piece of cheap metal to rattle to the floor. The air around the two figures seemed to cease movement, as though it were holding its own breath to know the outcome of this confrontation. One was an older, much more powerful-looking man, but he was currently at the mercy of the ghost of a child, rail-thin frame barely hidden beneath the folds of dusty velvet. "Ch-Chill, little man! I wasn't going to do any--"
"Shut it!" a raspy order lunged from the throat of the child, patchy wings flaring beneath the wrap of fabric as both a pressure-measure, for balance, as much as it was for intimidation. The wielded blade began to seep into the pinned wrist of the man against the wall as the shadow-blanketed face of the child inched closer, to be heard despite the dropped volume of the raking voice. "You will never," he hissed, "do that again. Don't touch me, don't come anywhere near me. Least of all, never lay your hands on anything of mine. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"
The man hissed reproachfully, but artistically painted it as an expression of physical pain. The cover-up didn't get past the boy, but he figured he could let it slide for now. "Y-Yeah, yeah... sure, man. Just lay off, okay? I'll leave you alone," he growled, making a mockery of an apology. It was hard for the boy to know if this was merely due to the reaction to the unknown feeling of fear or if the man was truly trying to egg him on.
The thought disgusted him, and he bounded off the wall with a shove against the tip of the blade and a graceful snapping up of the mask in the man's hands. He felt so naked without the protection, the facade, that there was no telling where his anger would land him had it not been so easy to take it back. Spinning on a heel, feigning past the limp in stride, he walked toward the light of day. "Do not let me see you again, or this may end against your favor."
As soon as the mutt of a child was out of earshot, the man exhaled in suppressed rage, "Arrogant b*****d. He has no idea..."
+ + + + +
The bank just had to go and claim something like that. In fact, Selby was almost certain that they did for the sole purpose of coaxing him out of hiding. He had been almost sure that it may have been just a trick, a message sent from someone else in the sheep's clothing of the bank. If the bank could even be considered to be so saintly.
The stranglehold he used on the sleeves of his jacket was turning his knuckles a whitewashed shade, and he walked as though he were running from someone who was sure to be following. The bandage wrapped around his head itched as the sun bared down on him, but every time he flinched to scratch at it, he considered it better to defy the urge and keep his hands to the fabric about him. It was safer this way, as his arms could be used as better protection around the weakest portion of his body than with them at his side.
"A misunderstanding" was all they had called it. It apparently happened all the time at the end of the month, with conflicting entries. A likely story; Selby hadn't even put all that much into the account, let alone gone out and actually purchased anything. Come to think of it, he was getting rather low on a few essentials... but he just about had it with being out and about for today. For the week.
"Oh holy--!" he sputtered as a figure tumbled into him from the alleyway, knocking Selby back. He shot his hands out hastily, scanning himself over in the areas of impact, breathing a terrified mantra, "Oh god oh god oh god..." But there was no blood that he saw on himself, nor any sharp pain from a stab wound he had been anticipating. Against all of his common sense, it seemed this kid wasn't actually out to get him.
He tried to steady his breath, but the feat proved to be just a little out of his range of capability. Wracked with the remnants of terror, he tried to lessen the shivering it caused him as he attempted to survey how the child fared. "Y-You okay..?" he managed to squeak out.
Bright eyes flashed behind a pointed mask, the appearance striking unbridled fear back into the man. He reeled back, almost falling backward once more from the sight until he realized that it was but a costume. The child collected himself, standing up straight and flattening down his cloak. How embarrassing that he should falter in footstep like that... even if it was due to the twisting of an ankle in the earlier scuffle. He cleared his throat, but even amidst the calm exterior he seemed to be shrinking back into his clothing. Perhaps it was a play of light.
"I'm fine. I just stumbled is all," he answered after hesitation. Why was this man worried about him? Why not just shove him aside, like any regular litter on the streets? It took the Eilian aback with how contrary the exchange seemed to be going. Was this somehow normal around here? Taking a closer -- if stealthy -- look at the man proved to only confuse him more. Blinking, he asked, "What about you? Did I injure you or something?"
"N-No, no, no... I'm fine. Really," Selby stuttered, backing up a little more. He didn't want anyone else touching him, and the child understood that.
Quite well, as a matter of fact. He chuckled, "Alright then. Sorry about that." His feathery antennae twitched before the boy waved a good-bye, and the frail man immediately realized that it wasn't fully a costume that he was seeing. In fact... it wasn't fully the child's personality that he was watching, either. The falseness in his posture, Selby wondered why he hadn't made the correlation earlier.
And then he berated himself. Eilian... he had at least heard about them and their plight, picking up tidbits here and there from customers during work hours. It sounded mostly as though they were retelling an urban legend, especially with how often some of them had to convince the other that they saw one. However, there was always the few, the small and intimidating crowds that would stop by and spit acid about them. Seems most weren't willing to acknowledge their presence, and by the looks of this retreating child, they weren't treated very well at all. He was even more skin-and-bones than Selby was, and that was saying a lot.
He had to swallow the fear that was still clawing viciously away at his body, "You... are... Are you sure? Umm... y-you hungry at all? You look..." He sighed, eyes downcast as he lost the drive he had been groping for in the darkness of his terror. If only he weren't in the middle of town, under the blaring sun.
The child paused to glance back. Mulling the choices in his head, he was sure that the man was either mocking him, as so many seemed to do, or was genuinely concerned for him. Even worse, maybe he was the worst kind of scum, coaxing an underage preteen to... He shuddered, but the action was hidden beneath the thick layers of clothing. The first and last answers seemed unlikely, with how the man was acting. It could have all been an elaborate act, but the emotion in his eyes when the boy was actually able to lock in on them seemed too panic-stricken to be capable of such a thing. Authentic. True, there was always the case that he was acting under the direction of someone bigger than himself, in a sense, but...
He spun close to pirouette-style on his uninjured heel to face the man, "Horrible, I know. I wouldn't mind it." The promise of food made bargaining difficult. If worse came to worst, he knew he could hold himself in a scuffle. "Beltrán, by the way. My name's Bel," he stated with an amused smile.
The man breathed enough to relax tattered nerves a little, and squeezed out a smile of his own, "Selby. Selby Kinnaird."
Word Count: 1,408
