TACO Run
Chapter 20
Ducking into the overhang of a shop's doorway, Therion shook the water from his ears and glared out at the street. It had started raining an hour or so before dawn, and while it was no tempest, it was steady enough that he'd draped a layer of his scarf over his head to keep the worst of it off as he moved from cover to cover.
The rain didn't seem to have lessened the crowds much. People still went about their business, keeping dry as best they could with coats and hats and what looked like the sun-shades rich merchants in Marsalim had their servants carry for them. Except they were made of oilcloth or something, because the water rolled right off of their surfaces without soaking through at all.
Therion would have stolen one for himself, but the problem was that people were obviously using them, and even he wasn't good enough to keep them from noticing they were suddenly getting wet when they shouldn't be.
Hope this doesn't last all day. If this were the Cliftlands, he'd be able to guess how long the rain would keep falling. And the Flatlands made it simple enough, since you could see straight to the horizon. But this was nowhere near Orsterra, and his guess was worth less than a used handkerchief.
I'll need to find somewhere better to stay than beneath a bridge, if this keeps up. Now that he was well again, he didn't want to risk falling ill because of something as stupid as wet feet. He still wasn't fully recovered—weakness lingered in his joints and muscles and belly—but he was capable of taking care of himself, so he would. There were plenty of buildings that weren't properly inhabited around here, but most of them were either uninhabited for a reason—structurally unsound, lacking a roof, infested with hornets that made assassin bugs look friendly—or already had squatters that he wasn't keen on tangling with over something as simple as a dry spot to sleep.
Like the one guy who basically was an assassin bug the size of a giant boar, with huge sickles for arms and a tetchy attitude.
Therion had left that abandoned warehouse in a hurry.
A giggle from beneath a nearby awning made Therion glance that way, and he saw a young couple—not even fully adults yet—shaking water off of their rain-shades and folding them up to save space.
Therion watched closely from the corner of his eye, making sure he knew how the rain-shades worked. Making them smaller and more compact like that was useful.
The kids sat down on a bench, and started a frankly comical bout of flirting that was two-thirds accidental and one-third deliberate on the girl's part, and seven-tenths awkward arousal and two-tenths exasperation on the boy's. The remaining tenth was the kind of good-humored teasing that said they'd known each other for years.
Hm… Therion darted in that direction, ducking under the awning and settling himself in its far corner, as if oblivious to the other occupants. It was better cover than a doorway anyway, so they shouldn't question it as long as he pretended to ignore them.
After a brief moment of flustered silence, as they tried to determine if he'd noticed their flirting without directly asking him about it, they seemed to settle into a more circumspect conversation, and politely ignored him back.
That was one of the few things Therion did like about this place. In Orsterra, he had to work to avoid people's eyes. Here, it seemed like no one would glance at him twice unless he specifically called attention to himself. And even if they did, they wouldn't try to talk to him.
That said, he still detested this place, and was determined to find Cyrus and the others so they could get home.
Home. Therion didn't think the word often. 'Back to base', when his temporary lodging wasn't a tavern, sure. But 'home' wasn't something he'd ever really had—not in the sense of a permanent residence, nor in the sense of a person or set of people he consistently returned to. He had people he trusted now, sure… he'd even call them friends. But that was it.
When compared to this weird place, though, all of Orsterra seemed like home. Even the Sunlands.
What I wouldn't steal for a bowl of leek-and-onion soup. He didn't even normally like leek and onions. The smell lingered long after the meal was over. But it was an Orsterran dish, a specialty of the Cliftlands he'd spent years in, and the thought of using a crust of dark rye bread to mop up the last drops of savory liquid made him sigh internally.
When we get back, I'm going to visit House Ravus and raid their kitchens.
But first they had to get back, which meant finding the others, specifically Cyrus.
His plan to find them was simple enough. Not a great plan, but a simple one. He'd had a good long think while watching the rain from under his bridge this morning, and realized that while he had the common sense to run away from danger and chaos, the same couldn't be said for his friends. Cyrus would be far too curious to leave well enough alone, Olberic basically defined his existence by protecting others now, and Alfyn was such a soft touch that he'd knowingly give aid to convicted murderers.
So, once Therion had secured a new temporary base and food supply, he was going to do something that went against every instinct he had, and go towards the source of whatever freaked out the locals next. And the time after that, and the time after that, because he knew that he wasn't lucky enough to find his friends on the first try.
Besides, Aeber didn't give handouts. If you wanted a favor from the Prince of Thieves, you had to steal it.
Therion continued to gaze off into the middle distance, even when an enormous blocky vehicle approached the awning with a heavy rumble. It came to a stop with a slow, puffing hiss, and a folding door opened in its side to let it disgorge passengers. The young couple sharing his shelter stood up, gathering their belongings to enter the vehicle—and then started a brief, frantic search as they realized that one of their rain-shades seemed to have gone missing.
When the blocky vehicle made an insistent noise, however, they seemed to give up and rushed aboard without saying a word to Therion—which he appreciated, really, because any attempts at a conversation would have been futile at best.
Therion waited until the long, blocky vehicle was gone before he pulled the folded-up rain-shade from beneath his cloak, examining it with interest now that he could get a better look at it. Metal ribs, dark blue fabric that's thinner than you'd think and feels kind of slick… There was a button on the handle, and Therion carefully held the rain-shade at arms' length while he pushed it with his thumb. The rain-shade sprang open, ribs snapping out into their proper curve and fabric stretching taut over them.
Therion's eyes narrowed. There was no way there was enough room in the rain-shade's handle for leaf-springs, and it hadn't shriek-squeaked either. But the thief knew that feeling of stiff, metallic resilience from carriages, which left him wondering how exactly the rain-shade worked.
After a moment, though, he shrugged it off. Who cared how it worked? It worked, and that was all he needed.
Shaking it once to make sure any water that had gotten into the underside while it was folded up was gone, Therion lifted the rain-shade up to rest the slim metal handle against his right shoulder, and then stepped out into the rain.
What in the hells? Two hours later, Therion had made his way back to the marketplace to grab some food—he was disappointed to find that the skewer-seller wasn't there today—when he'd heard a commotion that sounded more like shock and righteous outrage than terror, and gone to investigate, pocketing an apple on the way.
Three weirdoes were frolicking through the crowds, heads and faces covered by hood-mask things that made it just so painfully obvious that they planned to do something they'd get in trouble for, if their identities were known. They didn't bother carrying rain-shades, water splashing off of their dark, close-fitting clothing and being completely ignored. They darted and wove their way between people with a speed and smoothness that would have been admirable, if they weren't so freaking obnoxious about it.
They kind of move like that kid. Not walking or running, but gliding along as if the ground were slick ice and they had skates. Though the kid had been lower to the ground, hunching on all fours.
A shriek, as they darted past a young woman, the first one of them flipping the hem of her skirt upward to expose her underthings, the second one stripping said underthings from her body as she shrieked again and thrust her skirt back down to cover herself, face scarlet in mortification, and the third one—
Therion made a baffled, disgusted face. What the actual hell? The third creep had yanked the girl's stolen underthings on over his own clothes, which, okay, yeah, they'd already obviously been creeps in the first place, but Therion could at least kind of understand the mentality that went into showing off their thieving skills in such a flamboyant and obnoxious way. It was a gross and frankly stupid use of their abilities, but he could see why creepy idiots would think it was impressive and funny.
Putting on stolen women's underthings, atop your own clothes, in public? What the hell was the point? And from the number of layers that one was wearing, those indignant shrieks from earlier had been from previous victims.
Wait a second. From the snarls of the crowd chasing after them, and the guys in it who were tugging their trousers back up from around their ankles, they weren't just targeting women. Further made clear when they whirled a quick circle around a thirty-something man and then darted off, cackling in triumph as he yelled in shock and anger, barely kept decent by the hem of his shirt.
Aeber, I swear to you, if these are your followers here, I am never flipping coppers in your name again.
Therion saw no evidence of Cyrus, Olberic, or Alfyn being anywhere nearby, so he turned away from the chaos and started making his way back towards the food-stalls, pulling the apple from his pocket to munch on. He'd just taken his first bite when he heard the overconfident cackling of those creeps start moving in his direction.
Therion wasn't the type to attribute much to the gods. He figured they had better things to do than pay attention to every bit of pointless drivel their followers said, and he was pretty damn sure that none of them had ever favored him with special attention.
But somehow, he just knew that the Prince of Thieves was snickering at him.
Therion wasn't sure if he should apologize for daring to associate Aeber with those creeps, or for daring to think that his own irreverence would matter to the god.
Therion didn't turn around, pretending to be just another clueless wandering citizen. His eyes flickered over his surroundings, and the road ahead, marking anything that could be turned to his advantage, or might act as an obstacle. He could try to just disappear, but with three guys targeting him, it'd be pretty obvious—and with their mobility, it wouldn't be nearly as easy, especially since he wasn't overly familiar with the area yet, and they probably were.
Therion adjusted his pace slightly. This would all be about timing.
Almost, almost… now. Therion yelped and stumbled, toe of one shoe seemingly catching on a crack in the pavement just as the first creep's hand darted into his peripheral vision. The grabbing hand missed his clothes by a whisker-breadth as he went down on one knee, and his rain-shade smacked the creep directly in the face. Therion fell sideways, seemingly knocked prone by the contact, and caught the second creep across the shins with his shoulder even as the guy tried to leap over him. The third creep plowed into his comrade, and the two of them went down in a tangle almost on top of Therion, who scrambled to his feet with the clumsy haste of someone who hadn't spent the vast majority of his life honing his swiftness and agility.
Therion snatched his rain-shade up again, making confused, apologetic noises as he backed rapidly away from the trio. Sell the role. His gaze darted rapidly, as though worried that he'd somehow inconvenienced someone else—
A flicker of red caught his eye, and he blinked, recognizing his very first mark in this weird place—the wild-haired woman with spectacles like crimson cat's-eyes. She had a mole just below her left eye, he noticed, and wore an oversized, shapeless dress of some kind of loosely knitted blue fabric that barely covered the tops of her thighs. Her rain-shade was transparent, which Therion found interesting, but not so much that he'd let himself be distracted by it.
She wasn't looking at him, which Therion was grateful for, but rather towards the three creeps already bouncing to their feet. Her expression was one of surprise, but not fear or disgust, and Therion had to wonder if she was actually so vapid that she didn't even realize what was going on, or how much of a target those creeps would see her as.
They were already skating towards her, seemingly ignoring the hitch in their disgusting plan, and moving right past Therion in the process.
Wow, he said mentally, spinning around and pretending to flail in a panicked attempt to avoid being run over, eyes wide with innocent shock as the first creep tripped, ankles tangled up in his belt. That's some spectacularly bad luck!
The second creep swerved around his comrade, but when the third tried to do the same, he suddenly found that all of his stolen underthings had decided to drop from his fat hips to his knees, and he face-planted directly into the pavement, hard.
Oops. Therion did not smirk. Not even a little. My bad.
The one who'd escaped unscathed so far started to turn just before he would've reached the wild-haired woman, obviously intending to come back for his comrades. He wobbled halfway through his turn, though, just as he slid through the faint pink-purple haze rising from her skin. The turn was never completed, friction suddenly seeming to affect his feet again as he fell sideways against her.
Therion didn't have to fake the way he was staring anymore. The creep sagged in the woman's arms, obviously unconscious or asleep, and was half-carried, half-dragged along when she started moving.
She's tall, Therion realized suddenly, watching her stride forward towards the other creeps even as Therion hastily backed away. Taller than me. That didn't take much, for men, but most women were still shorter than him, if only by a finger-width. Even H'aanit only had a few fingers of height on him. The wild-haired woman was probably Cyrus' height even without heeled shoes; with them, she'd probably see eye-to-eye with Alfyn.
She was also smiling, pinkish mist rising from her skin in plumes, wide collar of her dress sagging off of one shoulder to expose a sensual collarbone. When the pinkish haze rolled over the remaining two creeps as they struggled to rise, they wavered and dropped in a heap, limp as kittens.
A wisp of pink drifted Therion's way, and he jumped back, jerking his scarf up over his nose and mouth. Just that faint whiff of sweetness had made his brain start to fuzz sleepily, and he was not letting himself be knocked out like those creeps.
The mob of furious victims arrived just as the wild-haired woman dropped the third creep on top of the other two. She planted one foot atop the pile of creeps, pulling one of those rectangle things out of her purse and tapping it with a thumb before starting to talk into it. The crowd swirled around her, a note of confusion and hesitation joining the anger, and only a few dared try to get close—and were quickly pacified by that swirling pink-purple mist.
I'm out. The situation was obviously handled, the creeps neutralized, and Therion had no intention of dealing with either mob mentality or the local guard, if and when they showed up.
Time to go back to the market. He'd fill his stomach and pockets properly before he left it this time, and hopefully find some good, dry shelter for the night.
I hate this place so, so much.
Four weird incidents later—including one where some poor sod with jointed black tentacle-tail things got stuck in a door that seemed to spin around rather than just opening and closing—Therion was ready to call it quits for the day. He'd decided to move on from his temporary hunting ground of the market, and started following the road that passed over the enormous bridge he'd been using as a shelter thus far.
It'd be a long walk to anywhere worth checking out, he was sure. But he had a kettle, a rain-shade, enough food for the day, and he still hadn't found appropriate shelter for the night. There was a wide enough gap along the side of the road that he didn't feel too terribly endangered to walk alongside it, even with those growling vehicles passing by at far too fast a speed.
Hope their drivers know what they're doing. He wasn't sure how you were supposed to direct a carriage that didn't have anything pulling it for you to direct, but obviously there was some way to do it.
Therion drank some of his water, stepping around a rain-filled pothole. He'd cleaned his waterskin out with near-boiling water three times before he'd trusted what he put in there to be safe again. The food he'd stolen had mostly been travel-safe fare, vegetables and a few fruits, though he had managed to swipe a few rolls stuffed with a spicy, savory meat sauce from a vendor willing to brave the rain.
Cyrus would love these. The scholar liked flavor, regardless of whether it was sweet, sour, spicy, or savory. He even liked bitter things more than most, though he didn't seek them out. He also had a fondness for things that only took one hand to eat—probably because that meant he could still hold a book in the other hand.
Personally, Therion was ambivalent towards the spiced-meat rolls. The flavor and texture were interesting, and it was certainly filling enough, but he wasn't fond of the tingle-burn sensation persisting on his tongue even after he was done. Not to mention he was pretty sure the smell was lingering on his breath.
On the plus side, if your sinuses were clogged it'd clear that right up.
A vehicle passed close by, sending a rooster-tail of dirty water spraying in Therion's direction, and he only managed to dodge most of it. Sighing, he resigned himself to wet feet and legs, and decide that wherever he was going to bunk down for the night, he'd better make sure it had somewhere he could safely start a fire.
He was splashed twice more as he crossed the bridge, but at least a few of the vehicles shifted sideways to avoid doing that, which he appreciated.
He'd almost reached the bridge's far end—it was longer than the one to the west of Noblecourt—when a hideous wet screeching sound caused him to jump and turn just in time to see one of the vehicles, a blocky dark blue thing, carrom off of the high false-stone side of the bridge and spin sideways before it was struck by another vehicle going full speed. The horrible, sickening crunch and scrape and squeal of the impact jarred down to Therion's bones and made his stomach lurch, tingle-burn of spices feeling more like stomach acid and hot blood.
Therion's fingertips scraped against the rough material of the bridge's wall, hard enough to make him hiss at the sting of it. He focused on that, grounding himself, and deliberately turned away.
He'd been perfectly fine with never seeing what would happen if one of those growling vehicles crashed. He'd seen carriage-crashes before, when a horse panicked or got stung by a fly at just the wrong time, and they only went half the speed these vehicles did, if that.
More of those shrieking vehicles showed up to deal with the grisly aftermath, and Therion didn't linger. A couple of those bodies still moved feebly, but others didn't, and at least one of those was smaller than he liked to think about.
And he was no Alfyn.
Alfyn would have been able to help, if only with splints and medicine to stop the pain. Or even just a warm, worried smile and words of encouragement. He would've helped if he'd been there, but he wasn't, and Therion couldn't do anything, and he had no desire to look at other people in pain.
So he turned his face away, and left.
A/N: The 'Three Sturm und Drang Brothers' are an obnoxious and baffling recurrent trio of street-level Villain perverts. But I figure that, given their proclivities, it can't always be Koichi and Knuckleduster dealing with them. Also, Therion stole karepan, or 'curry bread', a kind of deep-fried roll stuffed with curry. Kind of like a spicy doughnut.