Night had settled in suddenly that day, and now they all sat around a
close collection of fires, heating food and drinks, drinking various
alcoholic liquids.
Quinn looked around slowly with his dark eyes, taking in all of the people, and what they said, whom they spoke with, and just how they said those words. Everybody seemed pretty friendly with everyone else. except for Kyle. He sat alone, away from the fire, wrapped up warm in the cold English breeze.
Every now and then, those striking blue eyes travelled in the Englishman's direction, and glared coldly, almost as biting as the weather. Quinn swigged casually at the bottle of alcohol he and Deacon had brought with them, and turned his gaze upon that. He realised it was running on empty quite fast, and that drinking liquor at a time like this, when a dragon was likely to pop up and surprise them all anytime soon, probably wasn't a good idea in itself.
He screwed the cap on tightly, and set the bottle down by his side, zipping his leather coat as far up as it would go. He tucked his gloved hands into his pockets, and stared long and hard into the flames.
It reminded him of the male he had taken down the year before. It was difficult not to think about it. The day Van Zan had died. sacrificed himself, or so it had seemed.
Quinn recalled watching helplessly as the American had launched himself through the air, from atop the tower, into the cruel jaws of the male. The teeth had clamped shut immediately on Van Zan.
And the axe. the axe that had dropped from the sky, landing with a dull thud, and a slight ring against the rubble-ridden London ground. Quinn had picked up the axe, and taken it home with him, using it for him own. He felt that by keeping the weapon, come tool, in use, he could somehow keep Van Zan's memory alive.
The man may have been unorthodox, but he had been decent, in his own Yankee way. Quinn had actually grown to like the man, and had felt a great sense of mourning wash over him as he had watched the American's life come to a definite, inescapable end.
"Penny for them?" came a familiar American voice, as a figure seated himself beside Quinn.
Quinn looked over, coming eye-to-eye with Deacon. It seemed that the young man had taken it upon himself to become Quinn's shadow of sorts. It was actually growing to be quite annoying in a way. Quinn could barely get a moment's piece.
He looked back to the burning embers, without a word or nod, or any kind of acknowledgement.
"Was it something I said?" Deacon mumbled, looking, like Quinn, into the fire.
Quinn rolled his eyes, and stood, looking down on the young American.
"You lied to me, Deacon, and you want me to trust you?" he said, eyes narrowed, the anger rising up again.
Deacon sighed noticeably. "I didn't cause any harm. I didn't think you would trust me if I told you about the rest of us."
"I don't trust you now!" Quinn looked around, realising the rest of the camp had turned their attention to the two. He didn't much care.
"Well why not? I haven't done anything wrong," Deacon countered, standing to face Quinn off bravely. He had more guts than Quinn had first thought it seemed.
"How many times do I have to remind you that you lied?" Quinn growled. "I hate liars. That's the problem with people like you."
Deacon's eyes narrowed too now, as he asked quietly, "Whadda you mean 'people like me'?"
Quinn did not reply. He hadn't thought his reply through. He had meant Americans, but considering he was in a camp full of Americans and Australians, that probably was a mistake.
"You mean Americans?" Deacon asked loudly, standing straight and tall to his full height, which was actually greater than Quinn had first thought.
With a quick thought, Quinn retorted, "No, young idiots who think they know what's going on here. You don't even know what I've been through!"
"Apparently I do!" Deacon yelled back, coming closer to Quinn, staring right into his eyes. "I knew enough to find you, and everybody knows you killed that male. Why the hell do you think we came for you in the first place?"
Quinn laughed, removing his hands from his pockets, and balling one into a fist in annoyance. "You think you know about me? You don't know the first thing about what I'm really like, what I've really been through!"
"Then why don't you give him a lesson?" came the irritating voice of Kyle from across the camp, loud and strong.
Quinn didn't look away from Deacon as he said, "You wanna know what I've been through?"
No one spoke, giving him the exact response he had thought he would get.
Fine, they wanna know about my past, I'll give them what they want. They won't care anyway. they don't care about anything but their pride, he thought with spite, saying, "I was twelve when I saw my mother die."
Deacon's expression softened a considerable amount then.
"Surprised? Well, here's the best part; I was the first human to see that bloody beast in god knows how many years. I saw it in its cave, and it burst outta there, blood on its mind. It didn't want anything but carnage. My mother tried to get me to safety, and in trying to do so, she died. She never even got to see the daylight one last time!"
Deacon bowed his head for a moment, clearly regretting his decision to doubt the Englishman.
"I have had to watch people close to me die. all my life," Quinn continued, despite the fact that he had an audience. "I had a close friend named Creedy, best friend I'd ever had, never doubted me, or made me regret anything I'd ever done."
He started to pace around Deacon, shutting the youth out from the rest of his group, who had formed a clear circle around the two.
"Creedy believed in me so much, that when that bastard dragon came to that castle, he sacrificed his own life so that I could live," Quinn thundered, making sure all of the crowd heard him, and he made solid eye contact with a few of them. They avoided his gaze quickly.
"I watched the flames engulf him. my best friend." He leaned in close to Deacon, standing to his side. "He was like a brother to me."
Deacon looked around at his companions, as if searching for assistance of some kind in the rather one-sided argument.
"Do you know what that's like?" Quinn asked, coming round to face Deacon, jaw set angrily. He always got this way when he was forced to remember such times.
"Do you?!" he yelled when Deacon didn't reply.
"No," Deacon mumbled.
"Now, I've watched my best friend, my mother, and Van Zan die, all because of that same bloody dragon! Do you think I want to go through that again? Huh?!" He was shaking now, rage coursing through his veins as he glared directly at Deacon.
"Fuck you! What right have you got to punish him for that anyway? Seems to me that it was your fault all that happened," Kyle exclaimed, striding right up to Quinn from the crowd.
Without even turning, Quinn slammed his fist right into Kyle's face, hearing a crunch as he did so. He saw the large man crumple to the ground out of the edge of his vision, hearing him hit the mud, and groan in pain.
"Sorry, did I break your nose?" he grumbled, picking up the alcohol bottle, unscrewing the cap, and downing the remains. He stared at the remainder of the crowd. Some of them had already paced away, realising they never shouldn't have listened in the first place.
"What are you looking at?" Quinn growled.
Immediately, the crowd dispersed, going back to their fires and food, or drink, or whatever they had been doing in the first place.
Feeling the rage subside, and seeing Deacon looking from him to Kyle, Quinn strode away, off to his horse, to think in silence.
Quinn looked around slowly with his dark eyes, taking in all of the people, and what they said, whom they spoke with, and just how they said those words. Everybody seemed pretty friendly with everyone else. except for Kyle. He sat alone, away from the fire, wrapped up warm in the cold English breeze.
Every now and then, those striking blue eyes travelled in the Englishman's direction, and glared coldly, almost as biting as the weather. Quinn swigged casually at the bottle of alcohol he and Deacon had brought with them, and turned his gaze upon that. He realised it was running on empty quite fast, and that drinking liquor at a time like this, when a dragon was likely to pop up and surprise them all anytime soon, probably wasn't a good idea in itself.
He screwed the cap on tightly, and set the bottle down by his side, zipping his leather coat as far up as it would go. He tucked his gloved hands into his pockets, and stared long and hard into the flames.
It reminded him of the male he had taken down the year before. It was difficult not to think about it. The day Van Zan had died. sacrificed himself, or so it had seemed.
Quinn recalled watching helplessly as the American had launched himself through the air, from atop the tower, into the cruel jaws of the male. The teeth had clamped shut immediately on Van Zan.
And the axe. the axe that had dropped from the sky, landing with a dull thud, and a slight ring against the rubble-ridden London ground. Quinn had picked up the axe, and taken it home with him, using it for him own. He felt that by keeping the weapon, come tool, in use, he could somehow keep Van Zan's memory alive.
The man may have been unorthodox, but he had been decent, in his own Yankee way. Quinn had actually grown to like the man, and had felt a great sense of mourning wash over him as he had watched the American's life come to a definite, inescapable end.
"Penny for them?" came a familiar American voice, as a figure seated himself beside Quinn.
Quinn looked over, coming eye-to-eye with Deacon. It seemed that the young man had taken it upon himself to become Quinn's shadow of sorts. It was actually growing to be quite annoying in a way. Quinn could barely get a moment's piece.
He looked back to the burning embers, without a word or nod, or any kind of acknowledgement.
"Was it something I said?" Deacon mumbled, looking, like Quinn, into the fire.
Quinn rolled his eyes, and stood, looking down on the young American.
"You lied to me, Deacon, and you want me to trust you?" he said, eyes narrowed, the anger rising up again.
Deacon sighed noticeably. "I didn't cause any harm. I didn't think you would trust me if I told you about the rest of us."
"I don't trust you now!" Quinn looked around, realising the rest of the camp had turned their attention to the two. He didn't much care.
"Well why not? I haven't done anything wrong," Deacon countered, standing to face Quinn off bravely. He had more guts than Quinn had first thought it seemed.
"How many times do I have to remind you that you lied?" Quinn growled. "I hate liars. That's the problem with people like you."
Deacon's eyes narrowed too now, as he asked quietly, "Whadda you mean 'people like me'?"
Quinn did not reply. He hadn't thought his reply through. He had meant Americans, but considering he was in a camp full of Americans and Australians, that probably was a mistake.
"You mean Americans?" Deacon asked loudly, standing straight and tall to his full height, which was actually greater than Quinn had first thought.
With a quick thought, Quinn retorted, "No, young idiots who think they know what's going on here. You don't even know what I've been through!"
"Apparently I do!" Deacon yelled back, coming closer to Quinn, staring right into his eyes. "I knew enough to find you, and everybody knows you killed that male. Why the hell do you think we came for you in the first place?"
Quinn laughed, removing his hands from his pockets, and balling one into a fist in annoyance. "You think you know about me? You don't know the first thing about what I'm really like, what I've really been through!"
"Then why don't you give him a lesson?" came the irritating voice of Kyle from across the camp, loud and strong.
Quinn didn't look away from Deacon as he said, "You wanna know what I've been through?"
No one spoke, giving him the exact response he had thought he would get.
Fine, they wanna know about my past, I'll give them what they want. They won't care anyway. they don't care about anything but their pride, he thought with spite, saying, "I was twelve when I saw my mother die."
Deacon's expression softened a considerable amount then.
"Surprised? Well, here's the best part; I was the first human to see that bloody beast in god knows how many years. I saw it in its cave, and it burst outta there, blood on its mind. It didn't want anything but carnage. My mother tried to get me to safety, and in trying to do so, she died. She never even got to see the daylight one last time!"
Deacon bowed his head for a moment, clearly regretting his decision to doubt the Englishman.
"I have had to watch people close to me die. all my life," Quinn continued, despite the fact that he had an audience. "I had a close friend named Creedy, best friend I'd ever had, never doubted me, or made me regret anything I'd ever done."
He started to pace around Deacon, shutting the youth out from the rest of his group, who had formed a clear circle around the two.
"Creedy believed in me so much, that when that bastard dragon came to that castle, he sacrificed his own life so that I could live," Quinn thundered, making sure all of the crowd heard him, and he made solid eye contact with a few of them. They avoided his gaze quickly.
"I watched the flames engulf him. my best friend." He leaned in close to Deacon, standing to his side. "He was like a brother to me."
Deacon looked around at his companions, as if searching for assistance of some kind in the rather one-sided argument.
"Do you know what that's like?" Quinn asked, coming round to face Deacon, jaw set angrily. He always got this way when he was forced to remember such times.
"Do you?!" he yelled when Deacon didn't reply.
"No," Deacon mumbled.
"Now, I've watched my best friend, my mother, and Van Zan die, all because of that same bloody dragon! Do you think I want to go through that again? Huh?!" He was shaking now, rage coursing through his veins as he glared directly at Deacon.
"Fuck you! What right have you got to punish him for that anyway? Seems to me that it was your fault all that happened," Kyle exclaimed, striding right up to Quinn from the crowd.
Without even turning, Quinn slammed his fist right into Kyle's face, hearing a crunch as he did so. He saw the large man crumple to the ground out of the edge of his vision, hearing him hit the mud, and groan in pain.
"Sorry, did I break your nose?" he grumbled, picking up the alcohol bottle, unscrewing the cap, and downing the remains. He stared at the remainder of the crowd. Some of them had already paced away, realising they never shouldn't have listened in the first place.
"What are you looking at?" Quinn growled.
Immediately, the crowd dispersed, going back to their fires and food, or drink, or whatever they had been doing in the first place.
Feeling the rage subside, and seeing Deacon looking from him to Kyle, Quinn strode away, off to his horse, to think in silence.