Monday, May 10, 2010

Misplaced Title - Chapter 3

A smirk formed on Raven's lips as she inspected the new accessory she acquired. It was a thick leather band that fit a bit loose on her slender forearm. The inner most portion of it bore a socket that fit perfectly a clear blue orb of a stone she was unable to identify. The bruised boy was dejectedly avoiding her in the corner of her cambers. He hadn't spoken a word since she pulled him away from downtown Venicia. Though his countenance was cold and stand-offish, her patience was extended farther for him than what was normal for her. She noticed him looking every so often in her direction while she played with his bracelet.

“What's your name, kid?” she asked casually. She attempted to adjust her demeanor to be more inviting and friendly than what was commonly expected from her.

He snarled at her condescension. He was shocked by both her arrogance and her appearance. To wear pants! A woman. With her jacket, no less. Her hair cut so jagged and unrefined, falling all over her face. The nerve to call him, 'kid!' It was incomprehensible.

“I'm sure it is of no importance to your lady-ship to put a name with my face, miss Raven,” he replied coldly.

Raven was taken aback, and for a quick second a sneer formed on her lips. But as fast as it came, she regained her pleasant composure. “Your blatant disregard for being grateful aside, I'm sure you wouldn't prefer me to call you 'kid' for the rest of our acquaintance,” she said playfully. His ignorance to the way Venicia functioned was bordering on incredulous. It was because of this alone that she hadn't abandoned him to fend for himself.

“Grateful? To an androgynous female whose speech is so blunt and vulgar, throwing all decent social conduct to the wind, not to mention a thief?” he spat aggressively.

Any shred of pleasant air she had in her vanished at this verbal attack. Her lips grew thin, and her eyes, gray and red, bore into him with intense animosity. If he didn't know any better, he'd say her arterial eye began to illuminate a low crimson hue. His face started to flush red, and he noticed his skin quickly becoming moist with sweat. “You nameless fool. You've never been to Venicia, that's become quite clear. Let me give you some hints on how this city functions. I saved your life; whether or not you'll admit it is of no importance. There are a hundred other things out there far more dangerous than those two moronic thugs who mugged you. This accessory, I stole not from you, but from the two who managed so well to beat you out of commission. They handed it over without the slightest resistance. It becomes quite clear, by that notion alone, that you are not to talk to me unless it is with the utmost respect. And if not respect? Then fear. Your incompetence interests me not. Would you like to go back out there and die? I have no problem with that. If you don't, however, then I suggest you listen to and appreciate every word I have to say to you.”

She strode over to him during her speech, and quickly loomed over him, piercing through him with those eyes. Bullets of sweat were now running down his face, and his dampened clothes stuck to his skin. The whole room seemed to have drastically risen in temperature. “Paris,” he said meekly. “My name is Paris Wolfric.”

She shook his hand, and the intensity in her demeanor immediately vanished. In the same moment, the temperature in the room seemed to plummet back down to its original air. The iris of her eye returned to a normal state. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Wolfric,” she replied coolly.

Paris didn’t understand Raven, but the strange effects that took place when her emotions were readably heightened was familiar to him, though he said nothing about it. Instead, he made a conscious decision to try to keep her at a level state of mind around him.

Paris had dark brunette hair that hung straight down to his chin. His current lack of hygiene took his already stringy hair and clumped it together with grease and dirt into thick, grimy tresses. His hazel-green eyes were downcast; inconspicuously he observed the random valuable objects assorted around the room. Classy rugs, lamps, weapons gleaming in the low light, jewels, clothes, miscellaneous apparel, paintings, and other artful decorum lined the walls. The delicate features of Paris’s face were bruised and cut during the scuffle in the streets of downtown Venicia. His porcelain complexion was marred by the bright red and purple marks on his cheeks and lips, not to mention how flushed by frustration and confusion he’d become. A t-shirt and jeans hung loosely on his food deprived structure, the cloth hung in strands in several places across his frame.

Raven saw the potential in his broad shoulders and long legs which, with proper nutrition and training, would be strong enough to intimidate foes on sight. She took a gander at his shoes, which were absolutely ridden with holes, and a deep frown spread across her face. “Where are you from, Mr. Wolfric?” she inquired, with a concerned and puzzled look displayed on her features.

“Everywhere,” he said under his breath, in a tone barely audible to her. He didn’t even bother to look up from the pieces of treasures he admired around the room.

Raven furrowed her eyes at the minute response given. “A ranger. Why would you come here, of all places? Surely you must know the intense oppression of the Mages that goes on here.” She could not hide the very small amount of concern and distress in her countenance.

‘It’s not just here, miss Raven,” he said solemnly, looking up into her eyes. “The oppression of Mages grows every day, in towns around the world. It’s not a matter of time that every town functions like this one does, if the rumors I’ve heard about Venicia hold any weight.”

The two of them sat in an ominous silence. A blanket of fear fell across the room as they sat in a dreaded state of mind, contemplating what would happen when the day came that the Mages could get away with anything they wanted. Then, without warning, the door to Raven’s chamber flung open noisily, making the two of them twinge in surprise. Raven had her pistol cocked and drawn within a second, pointed at the man who meandered leisurely into her chambers, completely oblivious to his startling intrusion. Laine walked into the room while holding a tray loaded with food and drink on it. He looked up and started to find a gun pointed at his face. He put the tray down slowly on Raven’s table centered in the middle of the room and backed away slowly. Raven bitterly glowered at Laine for barging in unannounced. “Laine, you will do better to knock next time you enter here,” she hissed menacingly. The color quickly drained from Laine’s face, and within seconds his body began pouring sweat.

“Miss Raven, my most sincere apology, I was foolish.” He coiled back in fear. Raven’s crimson eye was now unmistakably emitting a blood curdling red light. Laine’s eyes showed such terror that explained how he hustled out of the room as fast as his legs would carry him, and absently didn’t think to shut the door on his way out in his state of panic.

Raven found herself so startled and infuriated by the intrusion that she was seething. The room was boiling hot, and she stormed over to the door to slam it shut. Each of her footprints left behind, to Paris’s horror and amazement, a patch of fire, burning into the floor in the shape of her shoes. Raven turned around and cursed under her breath when she saw what she’d done, and quickly put the small fires out by simply laying a hand on top of the flames. When she finished, she took a deep breath to calm herself down, and the temperature of the room, on cue, sunk back to a tolerable degree. Paris was so stunned that he could utter not a word.

“Here… eat this,” she said, motioning towards the tray of food. “You look like death, Mr. Wolfric,” she continued exhaustedly, in a state of over-whelming embarrassment for allowing herself to slip in emotion so easily from someone as worthless as a common thief.

Paris ate slowly and without saying so much as a word. The soup he sipped quietly, and the bread he ate in small bites. He cast the occasional side long glance at Raven. The latter of who was sitting silently on a large heavily cushioned chair reading a book from the vast library of books she kept in the room. He examined the holes burned into her once pristine rug. Had he seen correctly? Did her footprints really spontaneously combust under her feet as she walked? And her hands, they weren’t burned at all. He’d watched her put live flames out with her bare hands. At length, he found the courage to ask, “What are you?”

“I’ve avoided answering that question. Better to keep a low profile than to catch the attention of Mages, am I right, Mr. Wolfric?” she responded without taking her eyes from her book.

He inspected her thoroughly. Her pants were now singed at the base; her jacket for the most part hid the feminine frame underneath; her bangs hung loosely in front of her eyes. She was so androgynous looking, and so pensive in nature. She was older than him, her demeanor showed as much. But her features were beautiful. She was very handsome, though it was hard to notice because of the way she carried herself, the way her clad her body in particular apparel. She was feared, that much was obvious. As they walked from the streets to her chamber, she raised her head high and moved for not a single person. They made their way into the basement of a run-down looking building in a shady portion of the city. From this basement, they made their way through underground halls and basements attached to all the near-by buildings until he had lost all sense of direction. There were people everywhere down here, carrying shiny, tacky objects to and fro, trading each other; there were noisy people eating obnoxiously loud, smacking their gums, talking with their mouths full. These people were disgusting, and Paris nearly gagged in walking past. All the while, these foul people rushed up to Raven and offered their greatest finds. She picked a couple items from time to time, but for the most part disregarded everyone. When she was seen coming, everyone rushed out of her way; some even bowed as she walked past. Many hushed their vulgar speeches when they saw her approaching. After she passed, they all turned their gaze towards at the stranger that trailed close behind Raven. Paris couldn’t move an inch without ten sets of eyes watching him intently. For a woman who most likely only had a few years over him, he was amazed at the status she was able to make for herself here.

His eyes again lingered over her figure, and it was then he positioned his pale eyes on the leather band she still wore around her wrist. He stared intently at it, debating in his head how he was going to con her into giving it back without getting himself killed. “I have to ask the obvious question, miss Raven,” Paris started. “What do you want me to do? I know well enough you’d have me here for no other reason than if you thought I was able to do something for you,” he continued confidently.

“You’re a waif, Mr. Wolfric,” she said levelly. She noticed the aggravation that flashed behind those hazel-green eyes of his. It was endearing that he couldn’t ever hide the way he felt. “You’ve managed to travel the globe and hold a low profile you’re entire life. To be able to conceal yourself in necessary moments is a highly valuable asset.”

He raised his eyebrow at this assumption, and was taken aback by the acute accuracy in what she said. She then continued, “However, the fact that you were so easily overtaken by Laine and his grotesque, recently one-handed friend is unacceptable. You’re going to train with me. After your training, you’re going to be of much use to me,” she said assuredly. There was not a doubt in her mind that he’d do what she said.

Paris knew he didn’t have many options. A large portion of the underground thieves already knew who he was, and he wasn’t about to confront Mages of Venicia without knowing more about them. Not to mention the fact that he wasn’t about to fight her. She had some kind of ability in her. She was manipulating magic without a spell book, which not even Mages could do. Though the type of magic he’d seen come from her was weak in comparison to Mages, and it was only triggered by intense waves of emotion as far as he’d observed. “I see that I don’t have much option here, miss Raven. Though, I have a proposition for you,” he suggested gently.

Raven quirked an eyebrow and smirked. She leaned forward in an intrigued manner. “I’m listening, Mr. Wolfric. What do you think you have to interest me further?”

“I’ll train harder and do more than is asked of me for you if, when the training is done, and I’m ready to go out doing chores for you, you allow me to wear that bracelet your men snagged from me that you now wear,” he said confidently. He searched her face for an answer.

Raven examined the simple leather band with the sapphire colored orb set in the center of the inner portion of band. “This is valuable to you, is it?” she started slowly, choosing her words carefully. “Fine, Mr. Wolfric. You will be given this back when, after your training is done, you bring back something of equal value on your first chore in out Venicia for me.”

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