C Support

The happy laughter from camp was nauseating. Shinon was cold, sitting far from the fire, but he wasn't in the mood to talk. He flipped up his collar, trying to block the bitterness of the Daein cold. Wasn't it bad enough, being dragged back to the Greil Mercenaries, taking orders from that spoiled brat? But when he saw Rolf on the battlefield with those pleading eyes… crud, he couldn't shoot the kid even if he had to. Shinon bent over his bow, whittling away the splinters, trying to fix a weapon far beyond repair.

"Excuse me?" Shinon looked up toward a voice he didn't recognize. The man's body was a silhouette against the fire's blaze, and he vaguely recognized him from the army. Scrawny, blue-haired, with a ridiculous number of straps across his chest and legs. Probably some stiff they picked up in Daein.

"What?" He squinted up at the man who, in response, smiled and sat beside him. "I wasn't inviting you to join me." Shinon scowled.

"I'm Zihark," he said, holding out a hand. Shinon didn't move to shake it. "What are you doing all the way over here? Mist made some good supper tonight. You should come by the fire, eat something. Warm up."

Shinon narrowed his eyes.

"Listen, Shinon, I wanted to ask you something."

How does this guy know my name? "What." It wasn't a question.

Zihark frowned, but he brushed off Shinon's indifference. "I happened to overhear you talking with your friend earlier. What do you have against the laguz? Why do you speak of them like…" He trailed off, unable to finish.

"Like they're sub-human scum? Because they are." Zihark visibly winced, which piqued Shinon's curiosity. He turned to meet his eyes. "What? You're not one of those half-breeds, are you? Sub-human lover or something?"

Only Zihark's eyes gave him away, a brief shudder, but his body remained still and controlled. "No, nothing like that. Simply curious."

Any other man probably would have believed him, but there was something about Zihark's unabashed question that didn't settle with him. But he was too closed off; Zihark gave nothing away, which made Shinon suspicious.

"Like I said," Shinon said, standing up. "Scum. It ain't normal, being half-animal. And what, they think they're better than us because of it? Think they're stronger? I see these sub-humans our commander"—he spat the word—"has in the army. Runnin' around like they're superior to us humans. It's disgusting."

"But don't you believe—" He didn't have a chance to finish, because Shinon was already walking away.

Zihark leaned against the tree in Shinon's vacant spot, frowning at his receding figure. There was something decidedly peculiar about that man, and Zihark determined it was his duty to figure it out. He had overheard his conversation with the blond-haired chap, and while his friend didn't exactly say anything to Shinon's blatant racism he hadn't corrected him, either. It struck him as strange, them being from Crimea, a country that was supposedly aiming to mend beorc/laguz relations. But they were; he heard Princess Crimea's wishes…

Zihark yawned and stretched his arms overhead. Tomorrow is another day, I suppose.