Welcome to Gaia! ::

“No, I just need-” Amalric hesitated, fiddling with his coin purse at the front desk with building anxiety given the surrounding hubbub. The grand market was at its close, more or less, but the stir of it this year — for understandable reasons — had ended up bringing far more people even than was normal to the area, and spaces were scarce.

Rooms were scarce.

Amalric was pressed for coin. It wasn’t that he didn’t have any — he’d worked between classes at Daurelts and saved up a small account of his own to work with — but he was painfully aware of its limitations. Particularly when pressed by urgent circumstances and heavy competition. There were likely plenty of persons ready to stream in behind him, but he couldn’t afford to be reckless.

“It’s only me I need space for,” he insisted. “I don’t need two beds, if you could just-”

“It’s fifty silvers, our last room, two beds, take it or don’t but you can’t be loitering about boy come now. Are you taking it or aren’t you?”

As soon as the other man began approaching, Amalric felt his chest tense—his window was limited, rapidly deteriorating, the man was going to-

How much did you say it is?

“I-I’ll take it,” he blurted. “I can pay.” He fumbled with his coins, feeling his ears flush with frustrated embarrassment. It was an iceling man, no less—he didn’t look much, if any, older than Amalric himself, but certainly better off, and he knew far too well the impending sense that if he didn’t play his cards properly, the room would easily slip to more ‘favored’ clientele, of which this one almost certainly was from the way he presented himself. He even-

Amalric paused on a suspicious squint as he laid down the last necessary silver—reluctantly. Did he know that boy? His face was irritatingly familiar, and though some said all icelings looked alike, he’d spent enough time around them to feel he could make distinctions. He just couldn’t pinpoint where.

“Do I know you?”

“You may—”

“No, I’m—” Amalric flushed at his own brashness in cutting her off and winced, abashed at the sharp look the clerk gave him for it. “I’m taking it, it’s alright…” he persisted in spite of himself and then glanced to the iceling man, thoughts in a rush. “Unless you’d like to pay half? It’s a two-bed room, and I don’t need both, it’s just me. If you’d like the space, I’m happy to share…”

If the clerk didn’t side with him, he could lose it surely any moment. But she was a windling, native Sautian and despite her tone earlier, didn’t seem nearly so harried to get them through as she might have. She must know the room was going to rent out regardless, and if anything, she looked almost amused by the prospect of his proposition, some of the sharpness edging out of her expression.

Unfortunately, it took only a moment for Amalric to begin second guessing himself. Who was this man? Despite looking irritatingly familiar, he couldn’t pinpoint why, and when the other initially dismissed his recognition, he thought perhaps it was a fluke—but no. Just before the iceling turned his attention away he saw it; that flash of momentary recognition.

“Snake,” Amalric blurted.

“O-oh, no.” Amalric shook his head. “I meant—that’s where I saw you, it was in Zidel-” Goddess, was that years ago now? Perhaps only a year, but he’d still been in school.

It wouldn’t be a wonder if the man truly didn’t remember at all, but Amalric did, simply because it had been so odd. He’d never seen a keldari live before, and had never expected to. In truth it was some surprise he’d even known what it was, though of course the further south he went the more chance there were at least of reptiles, rock snakes—but not that, and certainly not in the dead of winter.

“I’m sorry it’s just, I’m sure that’s where I saw you…once…” He reached up, tucking hair behind his ear and frowning as he glanced away. “It’s no surprise if you don’t remember and it’s not all that important. If you’re willing to keep to your own space it would benefit both our pockets to share and we’ll waste less of this woman’s time.”

Amalric attempted to contain his internal whoop for joy—he managed to get by with only an outward sigh of relief, and immediate afterward attempts not to have looked too desperate. Even at half it was still more than he wanted to spend on a room, but it beat any prior alternative and there was no way he trusted his body and his limited coin to night bandits by attempting to sleep alone and unguarded outdoors.

Particularly in this environment, there were bound to be those forced outside and pockets and bags aplenty to pick from for scavenging thieves. It was a scene that bred risk. He pushed across his twenty-five silvers and took back the rest, pocketing it again and tucking the pouch beneath his belt.

Clicking her tongue with what could have been amusement—or simple idle interest, the woman took his coin and glanced to the iceling—what was his name? Amalric would have to ask. She reached beneath the desk though, clattering through something before producing a key and setting it to the counter before taking up his payment.

“It’ll be the last room on the second floor. If you need a second key, it’ll cost you extra.”

To be safe, Amalric took up the first. If the iceling wanted one for his own, he looked like he could afford it on his own coin.

Amalric breathed out, stepping up past the man—he frowned, because he still didn’t know his name—and fiddling with the lock until it opened. It was nicer than he was used to, but everywhere else had been full, and that at least explained the price. Simple, but with full cotton sheets on stuffed mattresses instead of wooden bunks. It even had a paned window, and being that their room was on the end, the view of the street was unimpeded and almost scenic. The sunset would be visible from this angle. He thrummed his fingers once on the windowsill before turning to the bed nearest it and setting his few things atop it.

“I’ll take this one and keep to my space. I don’t think it my business what you do, but if you’re the sort to go out seeking company, please find elsewhere to enjoy yourselves, I’ll be heading to bed early. For the moment, though, I am going back out on the town in the few hours before sunset.” He needed to eat, for one, but there was so much talk on the street it was hard to stay indoors long regardless until it grew darker. There was far too much at hand to learn, after the arrival of the newcomers and their flying craft.

He glanced back to the man, though, on a recurring thought. “I am Amalric, by the way,” he said, taking up what few things he wanted with him on his way out. When he arrived near enough to the other man to do so, he held out a hand. “Amalric Belwater.”

Amalric waited, and watched. There was a familiar, tight pinching in his chest as it became obvious the man wholly intended not only to ignore the hand, but also refused to extend even his name. And for an instant, the tightness flared to anger—he was one of those, and while Amalric wasn’t one generally to stiff anyone on account of race, there were a frustrating number of icelings who-

But Amalric stifled the spark, smothering it beneath stubborn resolution. He had made his peace offering. He had done his part. He didn’t need anything else from the man. Not his hand, or his name, or his time.

He let his hand drop, looking through and then away as though his company didn’t exist, and leaving the room with his key. In no rush to return, he took his time on the town, too irritated still — in the back of his mind, despite his best intentions — to focus on much of anything in particular, but determined to enjoy himself and think of anything but his unasked for company, who didn’t deserve space in his thoughts to begin with.

He returned in late evening, just before it truly got dark, with a new book that he likely shouldn’t have spent coin on — but couldn’t make himself regret — and a wrapped paper bag containing a half-eaten seeded roll. After locking the door behind him, he moved immediately to his side of the room without a glance to the other man in it.

By the dim light, Amalric lit his own lantern by his bedside table, illuminating his bed area. Not bright but sufficient. It was early evening yet, and he was accustomed to reading well into the night—regardless of what anyone said about the effects on his eyes, or oil or candle costs. Sometimes there simply were not enough hours in the day. After setting his book down, he removed his boots, debated, and then moved among his things, taking out his sleeping clothes and several personal items before retreating to the wash room.

He emerged some half hour later, clean, hair damp, and robed in his night gown, attention firmly rooted on his bed and nowhere else as he moved to it. Settling himself atop it, he unwrapped his roll so he could break off a piece to pop in his mouth, and then took up his book, settling with the pillow between his back and the headboard, and legs just bent up at the knees.

If he didn’t acknowledge him, the man might as well not exist.