"This is no place for a child." The woman sighed and sat down, her face wrinkled and distraught. "I've tried to help him, but we just can't afford it anymore." She waved her hand as though she could dismiss any contradiction. "Besides, he's a disturbance. No customer here wants to see a child." She felt bad for the young woman beside her, but she had a business to run. A rather callous business. The girl would forget in time; they all forgot, if they worked here long enough. In such a place, love stood only as a burden.
The young girl burst out in tears. "I should have done it a long time ago. He knows me, now. He'll remember that I did this-" Her cries strangled the words in her throat.
The older woman placed a cold hand upon her shoulder. "He'll understand someday. Probably sooner than later. Once he realizes what this world is, he won't begrudge you for it. Now come on, you've got someone waiting. Your surrogate son can stay here until the end of the week. Come on, stop crying. There, there. Now wipe your face, and comb your hair..."
Zevran watched his caretaker and the proprietor exit the room. The dresser that hid him was cracked slightly, so that he had heard and seen everything. Perhaps it was the look on her face, more than the news, that made him curl up inside the dresser. He wasn't sure- of anything. A mere child, he could hardly understand what he had learned, but anger coiled itself around his heart, intangible and unexplained. He felt its whispers of betrayal, even if he could not denote the emotion. He felt fear in its gripping pounce seize him, and then he felt sure that they would not sell him. She could not. A mere child, it was incomprehensible.
Sixteen and already graduated- it sounded pretty good to him. Even though he was a young Crow, he had killed plenty, receiving the same respect as more seasoned assassins. It was probably just the name. He had found that being a Crow meant being less of an individual; you could reap the benefits of the group, sure, but no one would ever know your name.
Off duty for the night, he found himself wandering the streets of Antiva. Women passed him and eyed him, especially human women. It was strange, but even stranger was what some women did with the elves, and he saw that everyday. Women loved the forbidden. An elf assassin? He had his bases covered.
A sweet smell of fruit, soured a little by the alcohol, floated in the air. Ah, he had reached his favorite place. He stepped into the tavern lightly and scouted the area. A boy, perhaps older than him- he couldn't tell- sat alone at a table.
"My," he purred, "You have beautiful eyes. A sad face on you is an injustice."
The boy responded with a glare before returning his gaze back onto the table. His black hair hung limp around his face, hiding it in shadow.
"That wasn't very nice. I would consider myself more interesting than the table."
The boy looked up again-his lips turning up in a smirk- and Zevran faltered at the brightness of his blue eyes. He wasn't into boys, but he appreciated beauty when he encountered it. Some days life smiled upon him just a little bit more.
"Did I hurt your feelings, elf?"
Zevran laughed. "You must not realize what I am."
For a moment, the boy's brow furrowed. Red rushed to his cheeks as he realized who he had offended. "So, you're one of them. I'll take whatever punishment. I won't apologize, though."
Raising an eyebrow, Zevran examined the boy. "Stubborn, proud, and strong. Deserving of some punishment. Tell me your name."
"Matlock."
"And your age?"
"I'm seventeen." He bit his lip. "Is this the punishment? Because it certainly feels like it."
"May I?" Zevran motioned to the table and sat down without waiting for a response. "Normally I would be busy tonight, but seeing as there are no beautiful ladies to be found, I find myself a little lonely."
Matlock ran his hand through his hair, and his eyes gleamed with an unreadable spark. "So you don't have any friends in that large organization of yours?"
Zevran let out a dramatic sigh. "Oh, I have people to talk to, but there are no friends with assassins. We have been...pitted against each other since our youth."
"Well, you won't find anyone to help you here. I'm a little busy, if you couldn't tell." The venom in Matlock's voice brushed the surface of Zevran's exterior, but he shook it off quickly. In a way, Matlock fascinated him. He had never met anyone who talked to him with such confidence and hostility, excluding his masters, of course.
Matlock continued, his tone transforming as urgency crept into it, "Really, you should go. I'm waiting for someone."
Zevran feigned a smile and stood up. Turning towards Matlock, he said in an urbane yet playful voice, "Ah, I see. Enjoy your night, and if you find yourself wanting dessert, you know where I am." The disappointment that hovered within his heart was soon pushed out into the void, leaving his heart empty. Why be disappointed, anyway? Was he that desperate for a friend? Some woman would come and wash it all away, and he wouldn't even remember Matlock's face. It's why he never minded when women rejected him- though it happened rarely. Plenty of women in Antiva. More than enough to satisfy him.
As though the universe had heard his thoughts, a young girl with brown curls and bright eyes walked into the tavern. "Ah there's my cue. My fun for the evening has just arrived." Matlock said nothing- he didn't even look up- and Zevran left the table, positioning himself near the girl. It was strange that she was alone, but he took it as a blessing. Fathers were always a pain to navigate around.
She looked at him and smiled before motioning him to come to her. He obeyed, but not before casting a searching glance back at Matlock. It bothered him that Matlock had not even bothered to acknowledge his departure.
Shifting his thoughts as he neared her, he spoke coyly, "I could not help but notice how tired and weary you are. Care for some brandy and a massage? My fingers are quite nimble."
She raised her eyebrow. "And the brandy?"
"It is quite sweet, as are you."
She laughed and held out her hand; he kissed it with an absent mind. It was too easy. So easy it wasn't even that fun. Still, this never had been the good part.
"What is a beautiful lady like you doing in an unruly place such as this?"
She began talking, but his eyes wandered over to Matlock. Someone was sitting across from him now, enveloped in shadow. He scrutinized the figure with an anxiousness that surprised himself. Was it a man or a woman? He couldn't tell. Its garments were black and its face hid within the shrouds of a cowl. Zevran found himself experiencing vehement suspicion when the girl's-shrill- voice thrust reality back into his face.
"Are you okay?"
"Hmmm?" Zevran covered for himself quickly. "Oh yes, I just become lost when I see a face such as yours. Not that there are many who can compare to your beauty."
She blushed and continued talking.
Zevran shot one last glance at Matlock, but the table was empty. Out of the corner of his eye, Zevran saw Matlock and the stranger leave.
He was left with a faint sting, subtle bursts of unease, and the feeling as though he had left something unsettled. What was worse, he even remembered Matlock's face.