Giotto

Talbot sat in the corner of the room, chewing with slow disinterest as he observed the different people in the bar. There weren't many, that much was certain, and it wouldn't be until half a day later until the empty seats were occupied and desolate tables filled in with empty glasses and bottles. For now, an hour before Giotto would come to take him through the town, with someplace quiet and relatively tolerable, Talbot could unwind his taut wires.

Low lit and quiet, Talbot tuned out the murmurings of the other occupants and leaned his head back against the wall, breathing in the lingering smoke from yesterday. Outside, the clouds gathered and festered and blocked their eyes from the sky. The light bled out of the world, and the grass and buildings and signs and people become muted in color. In this greyed out moment, nothing moved. A picture of perfect tranquility.

"Hey!"

Talbot breathed out.

"- the hell do you mean, you're not serving me?"

A wave of murmurs washed over the bar, from outside and inside, and Talbot listened with half an ear to what he could pick out. Honestly, the people in this town loved to cause trouble. It was just one thing after another, every hour, over the absurdest of things.

"-rry, sir, but I need you to lea-"

"Like hell I am! I paid for this shitty service!"

There was a shout, a collection of gasps, and the sharp crack of something shattering that made Talbot's eyes snap open in irritation. He needed to leave this place; Giotto, that brat, probably had some screws loose in his head - or outright lost them altogether - if he thought this place was beautiful, of all things. Exhaling, he stood, chair scraping across the wooden floor, and marched out of the bar without a care for the spectacle outside. Whatever it was, Talbot had no part in it.

He was met with a ridiculously buff man right in his face, another, scrawnier man lying awkwardly amongst the broken, jagged wood of a broken barrel to his right, and a crowd of people who simultaneously turned their eyes to him. Fearless, Talbot stared up at the man, who lacked the common courtesy to look back and glared at him instead. He was dressed in needlessly fine clothes that spoke of discipline and responsibility - a conjecture, not a fact, Talbot thought, especially after seeing the stormy rage flashing across angered eyes like lightning. There was no poise, no sophistication, in this being to back up his appearance.

Glancing back from the injured man to the one standing before him, Talbot assessed the situation with his aged eyes. Then, deeming the oversized infant as no threat, he tapped his cane on the ground with all the purpose of a king.

"Don't block the exit with your troublesome tantrum, kid," he said, side-stepping out of the way, "and don't glare at me. No one likes a man who hasn't learned common courtesy."

The man bristled at his jibe, baring his teeth like a rabid dog, and fully turned towards him. Talbot grimaced when he came too close. "The fuck are you to tell me what to do?"

"You're elder," Talbot shot back. Honestly, were manners even a thing anymore? What about discipline? Or simple understanding of social hierarchy? He adjusted his grip on his cane, ready to defend and defeat if necessary. Big-headed babies like this one needed a little force, a little threat, before they could understand.

They locked eyes, a challenge held clear between them, and the man pulled back his arm, ready to hit, ready to knock the living daylights out of Talbot, and-

Blond hair and orange eyes and pale skin materialized from nowhere. Giotto, in all his sunny grace, stepped between the two, lips pulled down in a frown as he regarded the older man. No attack came. Whispers broke out from the crowd, eyes shifted to the young blond peacemaker.

"Giotto..."

"-to's here, we don't have to worry. "

"He'll take care of this."

Sparking a sliver of curiosity, Talbot refrained from interfering and let the stare down continue. This was an opportunity to assess Giotto, and to either have these relieved, confident whispers - this unwavering faith - confirmed or refuted, if not his own judgement of the blond.

"Please don't fight here," Giotto spoke, voice calm and not at all afraid of the bigger, stronger man.

Said man lowered his fist, face twisting into a livid sneer, and he all but snarled, "Why should I listen to a rat like you? If you spout anymore of that pathetic shit from earlier, I'll punch your face in. Now, move aside so I can give that old man what he deserves!"

So they encountered each other before, Talbot noted, watching the exchange. In the back of his mind, he had an inkling of what pathetic shit the man was talking about, and he couldn't help but exhale a deep sigh. It looked like he wasn't Giotto's first attempt at persuasion.

"I won't allow you to hurt him." Giotto's stance changed as his shoulders tensed and squared. His feet planted themselves into the ground, unmoving, stubborn, in the face of a greater evil.

At his defensive stance, Talbot felt the urge to grab the brat by his collar and shuck him into the crowd. Over complicating matters, that's all this brat did. Talbot could handle this buffoon easier than a request for a simple kitchen knife, and here he was, being needlessly protected - hah! Protected! - by a melodramatic child who desperately needed a wake-up call.

Well, Talbot had always been blunt...

"Now, children," Talbot spoke up, gathering both of their attention. He narrowed his eyes at Giotto in particular. "I may be old - " Here, he shot a glare up at the pompous brat. " - but I'm not incapable of fighting or crippled." He looked at Giotto this time. "So, by all means, try to punch my face in, as you so eloquently put it. I'll make sure I beat some respect into you, boy, because you're nothing but an ignorant brat flaunting power you don't have, and these kinds of lessons... Well, they're better late than never, as the saying goes."

"Try me, old man! Let's see how many steps you can take before you fall over like the dead man you a- !"

"Talbot," Giotto murmured, just loud enough for him to hear, "you don't need to fight."

"What I don't need, brat, is someone to protect me. I'm perfectly capable of defending myself, thank you very much."

" -ake sure to put you in your pla- "

"You're old, Talbot - "

"Wise."

" - and that's exactly why you don't need to fight anymore. You've fought your battles already, let me fight mine." He glanced over his shoulder, eyes smiling at Talbot. "Besides, I swore to protect this town and everything in it. Right now, that includes you, Talbot."

"No need to protect those that don't need it."

" -ey, listen to me, da- "

"Perhaps there's no need, but I do want to."

"Hey!"

"Tch. Then do what you want, brat. Just know that I won't step in if you're in trouble."

"I'm right here! How the hell can you not hear me?"

Giotto smiled. "Thank you, but I won't need it."

"Cheeky brat."

"Hey!"

They turned their eyes to the man. He visibly seethed in rage. "I don't give a damn about what you're talking about," he growled, "but no one ignores me when I'm talking to them. I'll show you two what happens when you don't listen like the dogs you are!"

"How hypocritical," Talbot drawled.

Giotto's smile thinned out as he brought his hands up, clenched into fists ready to defend, not attack. His orange eyes burned as calm as a flame, unafraid.

When the first attack was thrown, the winner had already been decided.