Giotto
He hated the blond-haired, orange-eyed, charismatic brat the moment he laid his good eye on him.
Talbot was old, very much so, and he bet he walked this earth longer than this ant of a town was standing. It wasn't, anyway - standing, he meant, because the walls of the buildings on either side of him were crumbled to the ground, littering their remains across the path, and the roofs caved in and left big gaping holes in their place. Honestly, it was the worst first impression any town in a long while had given him. Dingy, dying, like an injured lamb preyed upon by a wolf's fangs. The place was lost cause.
His sentiment wasn't appreciated.
"I love this town more than anything."
His good eye glanced to the side, spotting a brat staring, almost indignantly, at him with a frown on his face.
"Why are you belittling this town?" The brat asked, stepping closer to him, insistence on his tongue and burning in his eyes. Talbot glanced away, letting out a quiet breath, and stood from his seat on the rubble of an abandoned house on the outskirts of the place.
"I'm not belittling, I'm stating facts," he answered gruffly, turning away. It'd be best if he got out of this miserable place soon if he wanted to have more than a thousand years left in this life. Brats of all shapes and sizes, especially this one here, just weren't his forte. "This town is going under, boy, and there isn't much you can do about it."
Walking away with his cloak swaying at his heels, he wondered where his feet would take him this time. Anywhere but this place is fine, some conscious part of his mind thought, and he had to agree. But, unfortunately, Fate had played her hand, and he was jerked back by a strong grip on cloak, nearly choking him. Whirling around (not angrily, because he was too old to get angry, but irritated, maybe even frustrated), he fixed the boy with a cold glare.
What was it with brats these days?
"What do you want?" He yanked his cloak out of the cream-colored hand, noticing with only the slightest of interest that it looked nearly pale contrasting with the black of the cloth. No one touched the cloak, not without his permission, and even then that possibility wasn't even a possibility.
"To show you the beauty of this town."
The brat's calm, orange colored gaze intensified. An inferno blazed behind the thin veil of serenity, determination conquering his features with an iron fist, and Talbot was tempted to take a step back. He didn't, anyway, because while he looked like a twig that could be blown over by the gentlest of breezes, he was firm and strong and had willpower rivaling the healthiest of men in their prime. It would take more than a brat's persistence to make him fall to his knees.
Eyeing the young boy, Talbot's lips pulled back in a reluctant grimace. "Will you leave me be if I follow along?"
"On the condition that you acknowledge this town's merit, yes." At Talbot's visible look of disdain, he smiled. "Despite its less than appealing appearance, this town is beautiful. I'll show you that beauty if you agree to let me."
Talbot clicked his tongue, a sharp sound in the quiet, and leveled the brat with a look that spoke of all his reservations and doubts. "It looks like I don't have much of a choice," he muttered, glancing around the barren area. "Fine, I'll stay for one week more. After that, whether or not you show me the supposed beauty of a dead town like this, I'll leave. No exceptions, got it, b- ?"
"Giotto."
Raising an eyebrow, the only intelligent thing that came out of his mouth was, "What?"
The blond brat offered him a patient smile. Instead, it made Talbot's blood simmer. "Giotto. That's my name. If you will, please use it instead of brat."
Forcing a mechanical nod, stunned speechless, Talbot examined Giotto with a gleam of surprise lurking behind the shadows of his eyes.
How had he known he was going to call him brat?