THE HEART OF THE PAGAN WOOD
MANY YEARS AGO:
Thief and nymph stood together beneath the sickly gaseous green luster of the innermost Maw. The former clenched his ruptured wrist, watching as his blood congealed with tree sap against living stone. The latter stood there grinning, sensing both his trepidation and pain. They delighted her, as did the newfound freedom his sacrifice had wrought. For she could now speak her mind unhindered. He could not attack her now, but neither could Viktoria indulge in her own dark desires for revenge.
For so many moons, the nymph had fantasized. Coiling her vines and nettles around his throat until he turned blue or severing him into pieces. Taking prestigious care to ensure that the wretched manfool would suffer for as long as possible. Viktoria had only that one, ear-bleeding scream of his to add ambiance to these sickly desires. She listened to Garrett's protests at having his eye gouged out repeatedly within her mind, and never had it grown tiresome.
Driving her thorny talon into his unsuspecting flesh moments before had been downright pleasurable for her. But still, the wood nymph wanted so much more. Perhaps the hardest part of this new alliance, would be restraint.
"You enjoyed that. I can tell," the thief's voice cut through the curtain of sheer silence like a hot blade to butter. The nymph locked eyes with him, her smile wide and reptilian.
"Would you expect any less?"
"Can you even feel pain?" he accused. The wood nymph grinned. She could see he was beginning to wonder just how 'fair' this entire blood pact of theirs actually was.
"Oh-ho-ho! Wouldn't you like to know?" she cackled. Garrett gasped as an unseen vine plucked Constantine's sword from his grasp. "But have some sense, Garrett. Did you really think you could hurt me with this? I was granted immunity long ago from the Leafy Lord's relics and curses, after proving myself as his most faithful servant and confidant…"
"Do I even want to ask how?"
"Even if you did, I would not tell you," the woodsie woman laughed as she dangled the weapon above his head in a mocking fashion.
"Don't push it, Viktoria..." Garrett growled.
"Or what?" she challenged.
"Or you'll find out just how quickly I can chop wood."
His bold threat caused her to cackle again, the sound reminiscent of a distorted hyena. Viktoria released her grasp on the sword, watching as the thief leapt away from it with all the precision and agility she'd come to expect from the man. The blade embedded itself within a soft bed of earth beneath the ancient trees. Jade eyes watched it shimmer in the low light, and memories of her departed friend began eating away at her heart once more.
"You honestly think I'd give you a chance?" she hissed like a venomous lizard, "I could kill you before your next breath."
"Well, thanks to this little arrangement of ours, I guess we'll never know," the criminal snorted.
That was when a most maddened idea entered the wood nymph's thoughts.
"There is a way, if you truly wish to propose a scenario in which no pact was drawn," she admitted.
"I don't have time for games, Viktoria. Get to the point or shut up."
Viktoria scowled at his latest insult, grinding her carnivorous fangs in repressed outrage. Just a minute, that was all she needed. She just needed to alleviate some of this tension. She'd give him a few lacerations, maybe a broken bone or two. It would be enough to satiate her need for revenge—for now—and the thief could still serve her from his miserable dead stone city.
"I am offering you a chance to prove your point," she sneered. "I can unbind us."
Garrett crossed his arms, his distrust evident.
"And then, what? We're back to trying to kill one another again?" the thief shrugged sardonically.
"The unbinding will not last long. Less than a minute, in fact," she explained. "Because the pact is new, I can confuse the earth and trees momentarily. So, whatever you think you can do within the next few seconds, city man, go ahead."
The wood nymph raised a finger to the thief, delighting as Garrett cringed again as her digit extended into a fearsome wooden talon. Viktoria carved a slight crescent shape into the raw earth, before looking up at him again. He was eyeing his discarded blade, no doubt wondering if he could somehow retrieve it before she attacked. Possibly, knowing him. Though she'd do her best to bind his hands to the nearest sycamore before that happened. Viktoria eyed the intricate hilt of Constantine's sword, licking her luscious green lips with hunger. There was no turning back now.
"It is finished. For the next thirty seconds, I have permitted you to display your own personal power against me. But I must ask you, Master Thief," her voice was cruel, cutting. "What can you, possibly do to hurt me?"
Viktoria began to cackle wildly again, until her attuned ears identified something foreign within her wood. She looked up at the thief, only to find a glowing projectile pointed directly between her eyes. Her jovial and tempting disposition gave way to a solemn look of attentiveness. Garrett's eyes narrowed as he pulled back the bowstring, a blazing fire arrow searing within its crystal containment. He didn't say a word. Neither did she. For at that moment, the wood nymph had acquired a newfound respect for the manfool who wielded flame.
"Well played, Master Thief," Viktoria placed her hands upon her slender hips, her lips curling into an impressed grin.
As she held his focus with her feminine wiles, she dusted away the marking from the earth with her toe.
***
THE CITY
PRESENT DAY:
Garrett resisted the urge to blink when his bloodshot left eye demanded a respite. Insomnia had banished his crushing exhaustion from the moment he spied that subtle yet terrifying drop of jade blood upon Gwenevere's cheek. A less worldly man would have chalked the experience up to the surrealism often accompanied by lack of sleep. But the Master Thief knew better. And even if he'd refused to accept what he saw in his all-encompassing cynicism and distrust, he could never ignore the very real tactile discomfort of his right eye reeling back madly within his skull. Even if by some gracious miracle he had finally managed to forget the life-altering horrors of that night, his body never would.
He must have stood poised at her bedside for hours, watching her dream as her long ruby hair shimmered beneath the dim amber light. Gwenevere always slept with at least one oil lamp lit, he'd come to notice. Ironic, he noted, that a deadly creature would be afraid of the dark. He watched as her slender neck dipped and rose with her chest as she breathed. The curvatures of her throat and breastbone resembled fine porcelain, shaped by the hands of a true artisan.
The thief prided himself on his methodical and precise disposal of danger. A clever route around traps or dogs. A quick blow to the back of an unsuspecting, unavoidable bluecoat's head. A gas arrow or bomb set off at the most crucial of moments. He rarely killed anything or anyone, as Garrett displayed the act as 'amateur'. A true master of stealth should never have to kill; because a true master of stealth was invisible. Only in extreme circumstances had he ever ended a life, and it was never pretty. The Trickster and Father Karras were obvious examples of Garrett's darker side. Both had died by their own hubris after stealing something dear from him.
Garrett felt his hands begin to quiver. Sweat formed in small crystal beads upon his weathered brow, before oozing down his cheeks and nose. Gwenevere had tried to steal the sword from him, and she was now a bigger threat than ever before. The thief had always prided himself on his methodical and precise disposal of danger, but before him now lay a danger that gave him pause.
Perhaps a part of him still refused to believe it. After all, even if she was a wood nymph, how dangerous could a hand-reared noble's pet possibly be? She was domesticated, and it showed. Garrett hadn't even considered the possibility of taming the vivacious woodland women, but if the placid and 'helpful' girl before him was any indication, it could certainly be accomplished. He finally allowed himself to blink as he pondered this, his left eye burning and watering as the lids closed around it.
When he reopened his rejuvenated optic, he gazed upon Gwenevere again. As much as he lied to the others and even himself, the thief had come to enjoy her company, if only for the novelty of having a pretty girl to look at, or someone to clean the derelict corners of his tower.
"No, it's more than that," he mumbled in the darkness.
There was a demure tranquility brought about by her existence. A strange, unfamiliar subtlety that brought him relief from the perpetual cacophony of despair and trauma he'd grown so accustomed to. It had been a full month since he'd woken up in a pool of sweat after being subjected to one of his many graphic nightmares, even longer since he'd heard voices or seen swift visions out the corner of his eye.
She was kind to him, yet abrasive and opinionated when the situation demanded. She disagreed with his frigid nature and pessimistic viewpoints, but she had not tried to change him. It was evident that even if she disapproved, she still respected him. She still cared for him. And more than anything else, she still stayed with him. Even when he'd told her to go.
Garrett reached out to touch the blood upon her cheek. Her skin was surprisingly cold and smooth, almost like a fresh spring leaf. The blood congealed and oozed across his gloved fingertip. Even through the thick leather, he could feel his skin tingling from the poison it contained. It wasn't enough to kill him—not without an open wound being present, or by entering some manner of orifice. As it was, the sensation was strange and exciting. A little mystery and danger bound together beneath the innocent guise of a young girl.
Garrett smiled there in the darkness, feeling something strange yet wonderful as he allowed his fingers to gently caress her face. He began to wonder if Gwenevere truly was innocent, or if her entire personality had been little more than a conniving lie. Her kind excelled at those. Was she simply waiting for the optimum moment to sink her branches into his heart? Or, was she merely an abused pet, eager to return to the forest? And if the latter were true, then why had she expressed so much interest in helping the City?
The thief also wondered how she viewed humankind. Were men like hapless animals to her? And by becoming a so-called, 'vigilante', did she somehow hope to liberate and care for them as if they were her own pets? Why did she care about criminals and vagrants when there was undoubtedly an entire throng of Pagans within the forest who would sing her praises and submit to her every whim without question?
Then he remembered what she'd told him when he'd asked her a remarkably similar question. Gwenevere had said that someone had to do something, even if they received nothing in return. He knew, from previous experiences, that fickle woodland women never gave freely unto men. They were loyal to their Trickster lord and master, no one else. But this ambitious little sapling's loyalty and love, lay elsewhere.
She was genuine; of this Garrett now had no doubt. The whimsical innocent wasn't crafty enough to lie, nor was she bold enough to pose as an imminent threat. Gwenevere genuinely wanted to help the people as people. Not for her own sake, and not for worship. Not as pets, but as intelligent, sentient victims who deserved to be heard. Why she desired this so terribly still remained a mystery to him, as did much of the girl and her strange and sudden appearance within his world. But she was here now, and the thief no longer harbored any qualms over it.
Garrett didn't understand how or why Gwenevere's stay was having such a positive effect on his mental state, but it was, nonetheless. And she needed to stay, at least until she'd found whatever she was seeking in this taffed-up city. Looking down at her, the master thief smirked.
"Well, even if you are a nymph, you can't be worse than Viktoria…"
***
The next morning brought with it a new set of tribulations. Through exhausted eyes, Garrett watched as Gwenevere began to stir. The girl's visage was dazed, almost serene, as she blinked up at him through heavy eyelids and a less than cognizant grin. She smacked her lips together and stretched, closing her eyes again in the process. When she finally noticed the thief, awareness and fear alerted the girl in tandem, enhancing her features as she released a surprised scream.
"Ayeeee!" she exclaimed, lurching back against her headboard and nearly kicking Garrett in the nose. His attuned reflexes were the only thing that saved him. "What the heck do you think you're doing?! Are you some kind of pervert?"
Garrett's expression twisted in response to her accusation. Perhaps, in a sense he was. The Master Thief had witnessed everything from undressing maidens, to a dignified lord sharing his bed with a braying sheep. Thieves were often known for their voyeuristic tendencies, and Garrett may have been guilty of spying too long at a brothel or women's finishing school than most would deem appropriate.
"It's not like I was over here getting off to you or anything," he snorted, "I was waiting for you to wake up."
"Why?"
"Because I need to talk to you."
"Why?" Gwenevere repeated, her voice growing shriller by the second as she pulled the bedsheets further up her body. "What are you gonna do to me, you, you…"
Garrett ground his teeth, releasing a brief snarl before he tore the bedsheets from her grip.
"Look, you can drop the innocent maiden bit, alright?" the criminal growled, dropping the sheets to the icy stone floor. "I saw the blood on your cheek while you were sleeping last night."
"Oh, you watch me sleep? THAT'S not creepy at all…" Gwenevere rolled her eyes and shouted, her sarcasm and outrage equally malleable. But upset diminished into quiet dread as she reflected on what he'd just told her. Her body sank back against the headboard, her green eyes abundant with shame."Oh…"
"Yeah," Garrett crossed his arms, his frown deepening.
Gwenevere pulled her knees up against her chest, planting her chin atop them. She stared up at the thief through honest, hopeful eyes.
"So, does this mean you actually believe I'm a nymph now?"
"Yeah."
His answer seemed to antagonize her. Gwenevere lifted her face from her knees and threw her arms out to the sides of her body.
"Well, why didn't you before?!" she squawked. There was a vileness about her now, and for a moment, Garrett was sure she would try to cast some sort of spell.
"I don't know!" he answered, taking a defensive stance. "I think it was just more logical to assume you were completely nuts!"
"Well, I'm NOT!" she cried, hopping out of bed. She didn't get far.
Garrett watched through concealed amusement as Gwenevere tripped over her own feet and tumbled backward onto her behind. She appeared stunned for a second, as if wondering just what had happened. Ultimately, Garrett failed to hide his smirk.
"How did you hurt yourself anyway?" he mused.
Gwenevere rubbed her cheek, then proceeded to examine the sparse remnants of jade upon her knuckles.
"Must've happened when I was pretending to be a moth," she murmured. The thief narrowed his eyes as he strained to rationalize what he'd just heard the erratic redhead say.
"What?" he asked, shaking his head in confusion.
"Well, naturally I got kinda bored last night while you were out so long."
"Naturally…" Garrett remarked dryly, rolling his eyes. Gwenevere nodded her head playfully before continuing her tale with an air of astute sincerity.
"So, I did a little art, played hide and seek with the rats, and practiced my lockpicking skills. But then I got bored and you STILL weren't home. So that's when I noticed how the moths were buzzing around some of the lights, and I thought to myself, hey! That looks kinda fun! I mean, I guess I never really thought about it, but light must look really intense and pretty up close like that. So, long story short, I decided to try it! Now, the thing is, I can't fly. So instead, I stacked a few chests and stuff, balanced myself up on top, and leapt at the nearest light fixture. I flapped my arms as hard as I could, you know? Just in case I was wrong, and I really could fly. But, turns out all I managed to do was break the light and cut my face a little. Go figure."
The criminal faced her in utmost bafflement as she concluded her tale, his jaw hanging open in response to such sheer stupidity.
"You could have put an eye out, you dumb girl!" he hollered at her.
"Hey, no need to be nasty about it," Gwenevere turned up her nose.
"That remains to be seen. I've come across ratbeasts less foolhardy and scatterbrained than you."
"They're RATS! Of course they're more methodical and clever than I am! They have to be. When's the last time you saw a nymph having to dodge mousetraps or invade larders?"
"That's beside the point."
"Then why mention it at all, Mr. No-nonsense?"
"Because Gwenevere, to tell you the truth, I'm still having some difficulty trying to wrap my head around all of this."
"Huh? All of what?"
"You, being a nymph."
"What's so hard to understand about that?"
"You haven't tried to kill me. You want to help the city, and you seem to love living here," he clarified.
"And?"
"And, nymphs aren't supposed to act the way you do. At all."
Gwenevere shuffled her feet, her face red and uncertain. Garrett squinted at her, noticing that she seemed almost embarrassed by his observation.
"Who told ya that?" she asked.
"I read a lot."
"And you believe everything you read, do you?" she demanded, crossing her arms.
"I know where to draw the line. But I've also met a nymph before, a long time ago. And she was nothing like you."
Gwenevere's eyes went wide.
"You met one before?! When? Where?"
"Doesn't matter…"
"It so totally DOES matter!" she argued, a sense of urgency diminishing all of her visible anxiety. "All this time, I've been separated from my kind, Garrett! If I could just know they're still out there… just hear what they are like, then…"
"Then what?" he inquired, perturbed by what the answer could be.
"Then, maybe I wouldn't feel so alone in the world," she confessed. "Maybe, this wouldn't be such a frightening experience for me."
Garrett sneered at that.
"A frightening experience? You mean, living with criminals? That's rich, considering what YOU are."
"No! Of course not that!" Gwenevere shrieked, hustling to undo what she'd insinuated. "I don't feel frightened of you at all!"
Garrett concealed the reassurance he felt behind a hard stare. He'd lost count of how many women were terrified of him, and robbing or clobbering a great deal more than he'd kissed didn't exactly improve his reputation with the opposite sex. It was promising to hear that Gwenevere didn't share any of their bias or judgement, despite her being far more naïve and vulnerable than most. But then again, she was unlike any other woman he'd ever met before.
"Then what about living here is so frightening for you, Gwenevere?" he pressed. The girl shivered like a crimson autumn leaf before answering him.
"This city… it's just so daunting and different from the place where I was born," she locked eyes with him, causing the master thief to grow rigid. "I mean, don't get me wrong—I adore it here, especially now that I've escaped from Simmons and get to experience all of it for myself. But it's still strange and confusing at times, and that can be kinda scary."
Not since that night when they'd first met in the dark, had he taken the chance to really look into her eyes. But now, Garrett could see just how lovely and terrifying Gwenevere's eyes really were. Swirls of the most vibrant peridots and gold, melding together like intricate butterfly wings. Or, more accurately, the facets of some rare gemstone. Two, rare gemstones to be precise.
"The place where you were born wasn't the Simmons family manor?" the thief's frown deepened.
"No," Gwenevere croaked.
Garrett was overcome by an unspoken oppression. He had thought that having his theory on the girl undisputedly proven true would fill him with only the greatest of satisfactions. But instead, he just felt sick.
"Gwenevere… did Simmons kidnap you?"
As soon as the question left his tongue, the rogue regretted it. Stating the obvious, was the mark of a fool. Of course the distinguished lord had abducted her from somewhere! No other answer could possibly serve as an explanation. Gwenevere had even admitted to being born away from him. Even in the event that she was Simmons's illegitimate child, it was far from unheard of for parents to abduct their own children from secret lovers. Though he doubted even Lord Simmons could track down an estranged nymph who had cloistered herself away within the forest.
Garrett stared down at his apprentice, his eyes piercing as he waited for her to admit to the unthinkable. Gwenevere looked like a guilty child who'd run out of lies to tell. She attempted to begin munching her hair, before her mentor's firm hand stopped her. Garrett plucked the lock away from her lips, surprised by how soft it was. The texture was more like fur than actual hair. He held the carmine strand between his fingers for a minute, before allowing it to fall back against her shoulder.
"Answer the question, Gwenevere," he commanded the flustered girl.
"Yes…" she muttered, her magnificent eyes focused numbly upon the tangled mess of bedsheets at her feet.
"Gwenevere, why didn't you tell any of this to Basso or myself?" he asked, a bit too much genuine concern within that sentiment for his liking.
Gwenevere's head snapped back, her exotic eyes shimmering with embarrassment and a primordial terror.
"B-because, I didn't think it mattered. I didn't want to burden you guys… though I guess I sorta already have burdened you, Garrett…" she whimpered a bit.
"Never mind that!" Garrett shook his head. Then, in some vain attempt to mask his own kindness, "if you have a home, then we need to get you back there as soon as possible, Gwenevere!"
"I don't want to go back!" Gwenevere squealed. "This IS my home now. I love it here with you and Basso."
"Gwenevere…"
"I remember the first night I spent in this city. The walls were so cold, and the ground was so hard. There was so much noise and decay and anger all around me. I was so scared most of the time," Gwenevere explained, her green eyes deep and passionate as she cupped her hands to her chest.
Garrett stood motionless. He wasn't sure what to say, or if his dry tongue was even capable of forming words within that staggering moment. Gwenevere stepped closer to him, the determination within her eyes granting her soft features some brief maturity.
"I know I should hate the humans for what they did to me, and I know I should go back to the woods," she began again, "but I just can't. Simmons is the one responsible for what happened to me, and it would be foolish and cold to judge all of mankind for his crimes. So, I want to focus on getting to know the good humans, like Olaura, and Basso. Like you…"
She smiled, but Garrett could tell a part of her wasn't so convinced regarding that last declaration. He frowned, swallowing the lump of tension within his worn, raspy throat.
"Gwenevere," he spoke, "I still don't understand why you want to stay here."
"You don't have to understand," the sprightly creature's eyelashes fluttered. "Just know I appreciate you guys. You and Basso have made me feel at home. Basso gives me advice, he pats my shoulder and laughs. Calls me, 'girly', and 'kiddo'. And you… you have taught me so many useful and wonderful things, Garrett."
"Well, that's what I got paid for," the thief huffed, crossing his arms as he leaned against the door.
Gwenevere looked down at her feet again.
"N-no, it's more than that! You're rough and straightforward, and you don't have a whole lot of patience for people. But…" her face flushed a deep pink, "…even if you don't feel the same way, I like being around you."
"Why?" he asked, peering down at her from the confines of his hood. It was a genuine inquiry.
"Maybe this sounds dumb, but…"
"What?" he pressured, despite realizing that the girl was already struggling to articulate her feelings. Perhaps this was more of that, 'impatience for people' she mentioned. Or perhaps he already knew what Gwenevere was attempting to convey, and the mere notion was making him uncomfortable.
"You make me feel safe," she admitted, as a marvelous luster lit up her irises. "Furthermore, you inspire me to grow and to learn. One day, I'll be able to keep myself safe and help others, all because of you, Garrett. I am grateful for you every day of my life."
Her reveal astounded him, as it wasn't even close to what he'd expected her to say. Garrett had never been an inspiration to anyone, save for the rarified fraud who'd taken up crime in his name just to make a quick buck. And of course, there was her…
That odd fluttering sensation returned within his chest, a gentler form of the usual stress-induced palpitations he experienced. Garrett felt his throat tighten again, and his fingers had suddenly become very cold. He shoved them deep into the folds of his cloak, lifting his head to further examine the vibrant redhead standing before him. If she was just saying all this to get on his good side, then she was doing one hell of a job.
"Well, that's nice and all, but I'm not letting you out today," he grumbled. Gwenevere looked puzzled.
"Huh? What makes you think I would want to go outside today anyway?" she asked, sounding a bit miffed.
It took the thief a moment before he realized why. He'd ruthlessly overlooked a meaningful confession, and one which had obviously taken her a great deal of effort to convey. Rubbing the back of his head, Garrett fumbled for the right words. She was staring at him again, which always made things difficult.
"I… look, never mind," he muttered. "I'm glad you feel safe here…with me…for what it's worth…"
Gwenevere looked up at him, light and laughter returning to her eyes.
"You are?" she whispered.
"Yeah, sure, whatever," he verified under his breath, trying not to make eye contact. "That doesn't give you the liberty to go getting yourself in trouble, though. I can keep you safe… that doesn't mean I'll rush in and save you if you do something stupid."
"I promise I'll be careful," the girl chirped. "So why did you think I wanted to go outside today anyhow? Can I go outside?"
"What?! No!" the criminal shouted, cursing himself for unwittingly giving her the idea to begin with.
"But why not?"
"Because there's nothing to do out there, Gwenevere. Training's canceled. I have to get some sleep," Garrett yawned.
"Well, can I go to Basso's then?"
"No."
"Why?"
"He's busy today."
"Doing what?"
"Hell if I know…"
"Then how do you know he's busy?" the nymph cocked her head, batting her long eyelashes at him. "Didn't you just talk to him last night? If you know he's busy, then you must know what he's doing since you just spoke to him and—"
"Look, he's going to visit his sister or some shit," Garrett interrupted her with an abrupt shout. The ultimatum of what he'd just unwittingly done speared him a moment later.
Twice in one day? Damn, I really MUST be exhausted…
He cringed as he watched a look of spellbound wonderment sparkle across the young woman's face. No way he was dodging the rest of this conversation.
"Basso has a sister?! I never knew!" Gwenevere gasped.
"Well, of course you didn't. You've only been living here for a few months, Gwenevere…" Garrett noted.
"Well I wanna meet her!" Gwenevere nodded, heading towards the door. Garrett pressed his palm against the wood, preventing her exit.
"I can't let you do that," he deadpanned. Gwenevere was furious.
"What?! Hey! You can't tell me what to do with my life! You're not my mom!" she squealed. Garrett leered into those unruly green eyes of hers.
"Speaking of which, who IS your mother, Gwenevere?" he demanded. "Because I can tell you right now—it isn't Lady Simmons…"
"Well of course it's not her! She HATES me!" Gwenevere tapped her foot impatiently. "Quit being dodgy, Garrett! Why can't I go visit Basso today? I really, really, really want to meet his sister!"
"Ya just can't," the reticent man remarked bluntly. "It's safer if you stay here."
The girl's eyes sizzled with outrage, followed by a look of deep hurt and resentment. Garrett was prepared for a great many things to exit that pretty little mouth when she opened it. But what came out, cut right through his usual guise of coldness and apathy. For a moment, she was silent. Then Gwenevere looked at him with a most bitter expression on her face.
"I can't believe you're doing this," she whimpered. "I ran away from Simmons to find freedom, and now you're just trying to lock me away again!"
Garrett's mouth gaped open in abject horror at this declaration.
"No! I'm not, Gwenevere. I'm trying-"
"-I can only go outside for training?! Or when you say?!" the girl was now livid, ranting and yelling like a deranged lunatic. "You don't even want me here, so why won't you let me come and go as I wish? It would get me out of your hood for a few hours, and—"
He clapped his hand tight around her mouth before she could continue. The girl glowered up at him, her vibrant green eyes now just as oppressive and judgmental as a Mechanist Watcher. Garrett glared right back, his breath visible within the frigid and stale confines of his sanctum.
"Will you shut up for a second?!" he demanded, "I'm trying to protect you, Gwenevere. Don't you know by now how dangerous it is out there?! There are bounty hunters trying to find you, and a mad lord who wants to do who knows what to you. Not to mention every other ounce of danger you're bound to attract!"
Garrett leaned in until he could feel the unkempt tips of Gwenevere's bangs against his forehead. He stared at her, muted and imposing for a few daunting moments in order to illustrate the sincerity behind his intentions. He gave her a few moments to calm down before lifting his hand from her lips. Immediately, the girl creature denounced his words.
"You just don't want anyone to find you here! That's why we only go out when no one's looking! You just want to keep yourself safe, Garrett."
"Do you really think I'd keep you here at all if I was that concerned for my own safety?" he proposed in a tone far more factual than caring. "If I wanted you gone, then trust me: You would be."
He watched the girl's mouth open—probably to emit some obnoxious objection—only to hang agape and soundless. The thief straightened his posture, giving his apprentice a knowing look. She met his gaze, and Garrett noticed that her eyes were not as innocent or green as they had once been. This troubled him greatly.
"You really want to keep me safe?" she cooed up at him. The criminal grimaced in response.
"Well, it sounds weird when you say it…" he grumbled, and then seethed with embarrassment when the charming imp began to giggle.
"I knew it!" she cheered, her cheeks a warm red.
Garrett clutched at the door handle behind him, taking a miniscule amount of comfort in its smoothness and cool texture. He suppressed a slight grin as the girl began to dance about, as carefree as a woodland pixie.
"Well don't go hurting yourself again…" he groused.
Gwenevere ceased her solitary waltz and blinked at him. Garrett tried to look away from her again, but something about the belief and intrigue upon her face held him captivated. Against his better judgement, Garrett chanced another peek deeper into her impossibly green eyes. It was different to look at her now, knowing full well what she was. Less deadly than a gorgon, more enrapturing than a siren. But those eyes were a tool, and Garrett knew all too well just how effortless it was for a wood nymph to coerce and manipulate with her gaze alone.
But what he saw within her eyes, outright demolished all concern. Gwenevere's gaze was neither hungry nor sultry. Her spellbinding irises had coiled their greenery around ideals and aspirations far more purposeful than flesh. Something true, and far too intense and beautiful to falsify. It was in that moment that the master thief first realized that he held her loyalty within his hands like a forbidden treasure. He possessed the ability to command a deadly nature spirit, and she would harbor neither qualms nor remorse about it.
Garrett frowned, detesting the very idea of such devotion. Why would she mindlessly devote herself to him like that? What did she see when she looked upon him with those glassy gemstones she called eyes? He dreaded the answer to either question. Garrett knew what he was, and what he was not. He was the greatest thief in existence, master of shadow and guile. He was not someone to trust, or someone to admire. So why did Gwenevere?
"Do you really care that much if I get hurt? If I'm happy?" she asked.
Her words shattered the serenity and liberated the thief from the implications of his discovery before either could properly set in. He glanced down at the starry-eyed maiden and blinked.
"What?" he asked, surrealism still cloaking his consciousness.
"Do you really want to keep me safe and happy?" she reiterated, leaning back and forth upon her toes.
"Yes," he admitted, hearing the word within his eardrums without feeling it leave his tongue.
His eyes widened as she stepped closer to him, candlelight at her back. Her ruby tresses seemed to illuminate, giving her hair the appearance of mystical flames. The delicate portions of her throat sank inward as she breathed, the alabaster flesh showcasing an irresistible suppleness. The thief would have stepped away, had the door not already been pressed against his back.
Garrett swallowed the impossibly thick lump within his throat. He had never seen this side of Gwenevere before. Perhaps it was the epiphany of what she was. A fool virgin with eyes as vast and wide as her grandiose ambitions was no longer all he saw when he looked at her. That fragile maiden still remained, yes. But like the irresistible and vibrant colors of a carnivorous plant, this guise was merely a lure. The rose before him possessed fangs and instincts far more dreadful than anything he'd expected. And perhaps it was his proclivity towards dangerous women, but the thief found himself intrigued by these appealing trappings and the peril they hid.
He'd never reduce himself to saying Basso, the shamble of a boxman, was right about anything, but he really didn't need to. The fact was obvious, before him now like the radiance of a blood-kissed sunset. Gwenevere, was an absolutely gorgeous woman. And the thief wanted her for himself.
He took a fearless step in her direction, watching as she did the same. His heart pounded within his chest as his breath swelled and rose to the back of his lips. The light did not reach Garrett's corner of the room, leaving the jaded criminal cloaked in shadow. Luminosity and darkness divided them now, as though accentuating their juxtaposed natures and ambitions.
"You really mean it?" she asked again, her anticipation evident.
"Of course I do, Gwenevere," he repeated, as he towered there above the dryad cloaked in lying flesh and perfumed rags.
"Then… YOU'LL LET ME GO!" she screeched, her mouth wide and red. For a moment, the thief caught sight of her fearsome predatory jaws.
Her shift in demeanor shook him, the alluring connectivity of that simple moment shattered by the woodsie child's shrill outcry. Garrett grunted as she tore past him, slamming open the large wooden door he'd been obstructing only moments before. It took the thief mere seconds to regain his composure, and he began his pursuit of the mischievous creature forthwith.
She led him through a labyrinth of cobwebs and giant gears, discarded potion bottles and curious red-eyed rats. He saw her stumble as she started to exit the tower through the hidden passage in the floor. Garrett leapt from the rickety iron railing and followed her through the wooden hatch. She wasn't getting lost this time. Through his mechanical eye, the thief watched her race effortlessly through the darkness, dodging sharp nails and debris as she went. Garrett couldn't help but smirk at his own accomplishment. If he'd managed to shape a hopeless and clumsy girl into such an agile and efficient state, then he really was one hell of a teacher.
Once outside, the harsh sunlight stung his bloodshot eye. Squinting, Garrett watched Gwenevere skip into an alleyway. His blood simmered, and with a frustrated growl he resumed the chase. Anger and irritability proved to be a powerful motivator, as he caught up with her moments later. Garrett grabbed her arm, causing Gwenevere to yelp in surprise.
"Let go of me!" she squealed, flailing and twisting in an attempt to free herself from his vice-like grip.
"Or what?"
"I'll scream!" she warned.
"Do that, and you'll get us both caught," Garrett hissed, motioning his head towards a pair of bluecoats who were making their early morning rounds. He leered down at the girl, preparing to cup his hand over her mouth again or even subdue her with his blackjack if she tried anything. But the feisty creature seemed to be taking the threat of discovery serious.
"Fine…" she pouted, pursing her bottom lip.
"Smart girl," he muttered, pulling Gwenevere into a dark and tight nook between two large brick buildings.
He kept his arms around her, unwilling to risk her bolting again. Garrett tried not to feel her supple breasts as they pressed into his chest, and he hoped she couldn't feel his heart racing. He watched the guards with utmost caution as they passed by.
Once they'd gone, Garrett felt something smooth and wet grace his knuckles. He recoiled in disgust when he saw Gwenevere licking his fingers, letting go of her in the process. She gave him a playful wink and a smile before dashing off towards the tavern.
"Damn it!" he grumbled under his breath, wiping his hand against his cloak. That girl really was something else.
The early morning world was crisp and busy as Gwenevere ran along the cobblestone streets, her heart drumming within her chest. Dead leaves fluttered and crunched beneath her feet, intermingling with filthy snow and slush. Chimneys emitted rich smoke, and the scent of sweet meats and pies wafted through the air like a delectable perfume. Men and women were bustling about, carting off copious quantities of food and cooking utensils. Every shop and stall seemed to be crowded that morning, though Gwenevere was unsure why this was. She glanced behind her only once and grinned gaily when she noticed the thief wasn't following her anymore.
"Heh, knew that would work," she smirked, sticking out her tongue. She almost bit it when a dark figure suddenly leapt down from the scaffolding above her.
Gwenevere skidded to a halt, her face awash with surprise and fright. Garrett flipped the train of his cloak back over his shoulder and sauntered towards her speechless form.
"I have enough endurance to chase you around all day, but I'd really rather not," he remarked dryly.
"So don't then!" Gwenevere panted, out of breath from running so much. "Just let me go and visit Basso today!"
"How many times do I have to repeat myself?" Garrett sighed hard. "You can't. It's not safe."
A harsh shock gripped the girl creature's heart as the realization of what was implied struck her. Bringing a hand to her mouth, Gwenevere shuddered. Her green eyes grew wide with hurt.
"Wait… I get it now," a tearful whimper left her covered mouth. "You think I'm a monster who's going to hurt your friends!"
She sank to her knees and began trembling at her mentor's feet. Lamenting both what she was, and her own futility to change such things. She felt Garrett closing in around her as he bent down to her level.
"No!" Garrett exclaimed, morbid shock evident within his tone. "Gwenevere, you're not a monster!"
But Gwenevere did not believe him. She already knew it was true. Over the last fourteen years of her life, Simmons had forgotten to feed her, or to light the torches within her cell. But he had never forgotten to remind her every day of what an abomination she was. How she should be grateful for his pity.
"Otherwise, you'd be dead in that forest along with the rest of your heretical kind," he would tell her.
She continued to silently sob, until a hesitant leather glove found her face. A calloused thumb nestled itself beneath her chin, bringing her face up from a sea of tangled red hair wet with tears. Gwenevere met Garrett's gaze, the concern within his bi-colored eyes almost unnerving to her. Her lip quivered as tears streamed freely down her cheeks and onto his hand.
"Gwenevere, whatever you've been told is dog shit. You hear me?" he pressed. Gwenevere could feel his hand quake against her throat.
"Y-you don't think nymphs are monsters?" she stammered, almost choking upon the mixture of sap and moisture within her throat.
"I used to. But then I sort of got tangled up working with one, a long time ago," Garrett revealed. "She was passionate about saving her people, her world. I think that's when I first realized your kind can't be monsters."
"Why?"
"Because monsters don't care about anything but themselves. Monsters don't sacrifice everything for the chance of saving the world…"
She watched his eyes grow dark and distant as that last sentence exited his mouth. Suddenly, her mentor seemed a world away. Gwenevere stared up at him, unsure whether she should attempt to call him back to her. But he spoke again, before she could even try.
"Simmons is the monster here, not you. He kidnapped you, and he killed that man. And here you are: A wood nymph whose doing everything she can to help humans. For the record, it makes no difference to me what you are, Gwenevere," he turned his gaze back on her. "Maybe the reason why all those other vigilantes failed, is because they lacked the passion and tenacity of something a bit wilder. I don't take much stock in sentimentality, but I do know this: Ordinary, boring taffers don't change the world."
Despite the temperature around her being a bitter thirty-two degrees, Gwenevere suddenly felt very warm. She peered upward into her mentor's stony features, tears still streaked across her cheeks and nose. Garrett remained as stoic as ever, untouched by the weight of his implications, or the impact they'd had upon her. He appeared immune to her smile, to the radiant blush darting across her face like a passionate inferno. And the warmth within her petered out a little, as the girl began to wonder if he was also immune to her love. Was such a gentle and innocent form of passion too weak to penetrate the cold hearts of men who dwelled deep in the shadows?
Despite her doubts, Gwenevere decided to allow her love to flourish and grow, even if she still did not fully comprehend why she felt tender feelings for such a baleful individual to begin with. Even if it was fool and senseless, she could not abstain from the rush she got whenever he looked at her. Whenever his rough skin prickled against her hands or face. She'd caught glimpses of a kinder, more vulnerable side of him. As fleeting and rarified as they were, it was evident that Garrett was a far more complex creature than most gave him credit for. Perhaps her heart had known this all along.
"Thank you, Garrett. For saying that stuff," she sniffed, her cheeks still rosy. She watched the thief recoil from her tender words, pulling his cloak tighter across his chest and shoulders as the wind whipped past them.
"It was just an observation. Don't read too much into it," he snapped. Gwenevere craned her head, squinting her eyes in confusion as another question entered her head.
"Garrett, if you aren't worried about me hurting anyone if I get loose, then why won't you let me outside?" she asked, her brows beginning to furrow with suspicion. The thief's flesh and metal glare bore into her own.
"Do you have any idea what could happen to Basso and that sister of his if they were caught with a wood nymph? Do you know what would happen to YOU?" Garrett asked.
"No," Gwenevere shook her head.
"What did the baron say would happen to unaligned mages during his big fancy speech last year?"
"I dunno. I wasn't there."
Garrett groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Even if you weren't there, the details were made accessible to everyone via newspaper. It was a new law, after all."
"Ya do know that kidnap victims usually don't have access to newspapers, right?"
"Riiight…" the thief grumbled. "The thing about Northcrest, is that he actively hates the old ways. If it's a staple part of our world, he means to eliminate it."
"But why?"
"Because he's a greedy, ignorant old man who resents what he can't understand or accomplish," Garrett answered gruffly. "Point is, you represent everything he hates in this city, and he wants you gone."
"But I've never done anything to him!" Gwenevere bleated.
"Doesn't matter," Garrett shook his head. "If you're a mage who isn't tethered to an organized—and I use the term very loosely—faction, then you're breaking the law. And Sophie and Basso could be arrested and convicted just for harboring you."
Gwenevere's eyes grew wide as a chilly wind tickled the nape of her neck. Songbirds chirped overhead, their intricate melodies drowned out by the gargle of ravens and the cacophony of life happening within the city streets. The girl creature gaped up at her mentor, cocking her head with great concern.
"Garrett…" she began, a distinct warble within her voice, "you… you've been harboring me for quite a while now."
"I'm well aware," the thief murmured sardonically.
"Then, does that mean?"
"Yeah. They could arrest me, too," the reticent man gazed upward, watching with caution as a woman poked her head out of a nearby window to water her flowers. "Of course, harboring an illegal mage would probably be the least of my offenses…"
"But Basso's a criminal too, right?"
Her innocent question prompted the thief to scoff.
"Hardly. The jolly bastard keeps everything nice and legal. Last time I checked, it wasn't a crime to gossip. Or to buy and sell wares—IF you play dumb and pretend you don't know they were stolen."
"But he's an informant! He helps you rob people!" Gwenevere protested. Garrett hastened to cover her mouth.
"That's difficult to prove, especially with word of mouth," he hissed. "Besides, Basso may not be the cleverest taffer in town, but he knows how to manipulate his way around the system. He's also got some friends in dark places. Let's just say the Black Alley Society knows how to keep the guards quiet."
"The… what?!" Gwenevere grew incredulous.
"Don't worry about it," Garrett shook his head. "To return to my original point, you're a liability no matter who you're with. With the bounty hunters and the watch alone after you, it was bad enough. But now that I know you're a nymph, we've all got a bigger problem."
"And that is?"
Garrett stared at her as if a nest of angry hornets had suddenly taken up residence within her ruby hair.
"Don't tell me you haven't even considered the Hammerites?!"
"Who?" she asked. Garrett's expression contorted in astonishment.
"Really?! You mean you've never heard of the holy order of crimson zealots?"
"Huh?"
"The guys in red with the really big hammers," Garrett elaborated, rolling his eyes.
"Ooh! Them! Yeah, I've seen 'em around," Gwenevere gave her hooded companion a silly, toothy grin. "So, they're in charge of road construction or something, right?"
The thief acquired a dark visage that immediately caused Gwenevere's heart to grow frigid.
"No. The Hammers exist for two reasons: Fanatically pleasing their Builder and smashing in the skulls of anyone who defies their tenants. And that goes double for all things Pagan, especially wood nymphs."
"B-but why? Why would anybody want to DO that?!" Gwenevere whimpered.
"Because they can," Garrett answered bluntly.
There was enough hatred behind his words for Gwenevere to take notice. She knew the thief cared little for his fellow man, but she wondered why he harbored so much extra resentment towards the passionate warriors in red. As she pondered these things, she felt Garrett's shadow fall upon her once more.
"That's why you can't go outside anymore, Gwenevere. That's why you can't visit Basso or meet his sister. You were already a liability before, but now…" she heard him sigh, a brief shudder on the end of his tongue, "If any of us were caught harboring you now, we'd be bludgeoned to death on the spot, and taff knows what they'd do to you. I've heard rumors that they enjoy burning nymphs alive."
Gwenevere's eyes shivered at the very notion of being set aflame. She already feared the blazing flower for its unpredictability and angry hues. She thought about what had transpired the day before at the Keeper Compound, and how the vague memories of her childhood had ended in a nightmarish hell of fire and strange murderers. She'd seen what fire did to plants and trees, and she shuddered aloud at the thought of what it would do to her. Gwenevere forced herself to stop wondering when she pictured the flames scouring her flesh and hair, her imagination tormenting her with all manner of unspeakable sensations. Then, in place of horrific burns and screams, she thought about something else.
"But Garrett? How would they know I'm a…" a man trotted out of his shop, giving the girl a tip of his hat and her hooded mentor a hard glare.
"Miss? Is this fellow bothering you?" he asked sternly.
Gwenevere peered up at Garrett. The thief's eyes were intense, his posture hunched over and loose. It was evident that he was preparing to sprint, depending on her answer. She faced the concerned shopkeeper, putting on her most contagious of gleeful grins.
"Nope! He's a nice guy!" she assured.
The man rubbed his black moustache, gave Garrett a detestable once-over, and returned to his work. Once he was gone, the girl creature smiled up at her companion again. But the thief wasn't smiling back. Instead, he was staring down at her sprightly features with a look of blatant astonishment.
"What?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"You called me nice," he commented.
"Yeah? Does that bother you?"
"Not really. You think everyone's nice. But in my case, it's just a bit surprising," Garrett turned away from her anticipating features, leering up at the shop the judgmental man had just entered. "That guy recognized at least one of us. Probably me, given his hateful glares. Come on, let's get out of here."
Gwenevere fell in beside her mentor, and the two walked abreast for several blocks. As they circled around back towards the clocktower, Gwenevere chanced a peek at her reticent companion.
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why do you think it's surprising in your case?"
The thief peered down at her through his left eye, though his general attention and posture remained frontal.
"Gonna have to be a bit more specific than that," he muttered.
"Why do you think it's so odd for me to think of you as a nice person?" Gwenevere explained, trying to be much more specific this time.
"I think it's a bit obvious, even for you…"
"No, not really," she replied, kicking a stone. Garrett halted his progression and turned to face her. There was a dour grimace etched across his disheveled features.
"Because I haven't been nice to you, Gwenevere. In fact, I make it a point to let you know just how unwanted and annoying you are."
Gwenevere thought about this for a moment.
"I mean, yeah. You're still a jerk. But there's something fake about it now. Almost like you want me to think you hate me, but you really… like me…"
Her eyes lit up with hope at the promising notion. Her smile widened even more, until it reached the far corners of her rosy cheeks. She looked up at Garrett for a sign of confirmation, but the thief just pulled his hood tighter around his face with a harsh grunt.
"Don't be ridiculous," he grumbled.
"Okay, fine. Be like that," she huffed, even as her heart swelled at the prospect. "Can we get back to what I was saying before that guy came out and got all suspicious?"
"Even if I say no, you're going to anyway," Garrett groused. Gwenevere smiled again.
"Well, the way I see it, those Hammer guys wouldn't know I was really a nymph unless they saw my blood, right? I mean, that's the only reason YOU found out, even after I told ya!"
"Or unless you decide to revert back into your true form for some reason," Garrett added.
Gwenevere went quiet, staring down at her boots. She allowed the thief to go on ahead of her, as deep shame and sadness flooded her heart. She gazed down at her false reflection in a puddle of stagnant brown water, remembering the last time she'd changed form in front of someone.
"I'm not going to revert. You can believe that," she whispered. Up ahead, the sound of boots crushing snow and dead leaves abruptly ceased.
"Can I?" he asked suspiciously, turning around to face her. Gwenevere stared up at him, genuine candor glimmering within her eyes like stars.
"Yes, Garrett. You can believe me. I promise I'll never change back into my true form unless you want me to. And I promise I will never do anything to hurt you or betray your trust in any way," she cooed.
This seemed to intrigue the thief, but little else.
"I don't take much stock in promises, just so you know," he warned.
Around the corner, she could see the clocktower coming into view. This was her last chance to reason with the difficult man.
"Okay, well, all else has failed, soooo…" she shrugged.
Balling her fingers into tight fists and pressing them against her heart, Gwenevere began to beg. She even went so far as to arch her back and hop up and down, all the while making perfect eye contact with her brooding mentor.
"I'll be careful, Garrett! Honest I will! Just please let me go see Basso today! Pleeeeeeaaaaassssseeee? I'll keep my hood up and everything! No one will ever know, and you won't be able to sleep as well with me around—you know this!"
Garrett yawned again, then began rubbing his hands together with a visible shiver. He sighed hard, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Fine. You can go," he acquiesced.
"Really?!" the girl creature could barely contain her jubilation.
"But I'm taking you the rest of the way myself, and you're staying with Basso's sister—NOT Basso—tonight. She's more than capable of keeping you safe. Do I make myself clear?"
"Loud and," Gwenevere smiled up at him, tugging at the hood of her long navy cloak.
"And keep that hood of yours up," he reminded.
"I will," Gwenevere trilled. She pulled the warm coverage up over her messy bangs, and together, thief and nymph made their way to the Crippled Burrick tavern.
***
"Look! There's the tavern!" Gwenevere trilled, merriment evident within her shimmering green eyes. Garrett remained as cold and reticent as the frosty icicles clinging to the rafters overhead.
"I see it, Gwenevere," he mumbled, his own eyes ever watchful as they neared the beloved gathering pit for all of the City's drunkards and fools.
They descended the icy stone steps which led to the tavern's spacious basement; now Basso's humble little home. It had been that way for at least seven or eight years now. Following his divorce and the emotional plummet he'd suffered after losing his damsel in distress, Basso had given up on anything that remotely resembled a normal life. He would have been homeless or dead by now, were it not for his resourceful younger sister, and the numerous strings she had pulled in order to secure that hovel in the first place.
The way Garrett understood it, Sophie had persuaded her boss, Gregory—proprietor and barkeep of the Burrick alike—to allow her brother to rent the storage space. What Gregory got out of this little 'arrangement' was kept between him and the siblings, although Garrett didn't doubt that Sophie's impressive bust had something to do with keeping her brother off the cold city streets. She'd slept with men who'd helped her brother before as an extension of her gratitude. Something he could more than attest to, firsthand.
When the thief brayed upon the door, Garrett received little more than a muffled, "come in", and the shuffling of papers. Upon entering, he scrunched up his sharp nose in disgust. Basso's sad little domicile still reeked of urine and pickle juice. The jolly boxman was stationed at his desk on the far side of the tiny room. Garrett cleared his throat in a less than tactful attempt to gain his associate's attention. Basso's brown eyes brightened with glee as he looked up at the hooded criminal and his cheerful little companion.
"Oh, hey! Ya made it!" the overweight drunkard grunted, abandoning the papers he'd been so immersed in moments before. He popped himself out of his chair and waddled over to where his two guests were waiting.
"Happy Feastday!" he proclaimed, arms outstretched and a wide boyish grin upon his unshaven face. Garrett abruptly backed away from the gesture.
"I brought the girl," he deadpanned.
Basso's smile crumbled only for a moment, before the glint of festivity within his eyes overtook his entire face. He turned to Gwenevere and placed his hands upon the girl's roundish cheeks.
"Aww, there she is!" he grinned, removing his chubby fingers from her face and pulling the unsuspecting young woman into a bear hug, "glad the grumbly old taffer let ya come over!"
"You're two years older than me…" Garrett muttered under his breath, arms crossed.
"Basso?" Gwenevere asked, her voice muffled by the boxman's dark green scarf and overbearing embrace. A short gasp exited his mouth as he released her.
"Oh, heheh… sorry, kiddo," Basso blushed red with embarrassment. Gwenevere was turning red too, but from lack of oxygen rather than any emotional discomfort.
"Oh, that's okay," she trilled, her eyes closing in satisfaction and joy. When she reopened them again, a look of intrigue danced across her features, "I was just wondering, Basso—what's Feastday?"
The rotund pauper examined her with an incredulous glare.
"What, didn't you know?" he asked.
"If she needed to ask the question…" Garrett groused in a hushed voice. But the boxman still heard him, as was demonstrated by his rather hateful sneer.
"Feastday is the annual harvest festival that's goin' on right now," he explained, peeling his eyes away from Garrett and recovering his shattered smile. "It's when people share their bounties with others, especially those who don't have all too much themselves."
"It's some stupid eating holiday," Garrett corrected with visible disgust. "Just another excuse for the nobles to piss their money away. They probably invented it as an excuse to overindulge in all the sickeningly rich food that starts showing up around this time of the year…"
"Actually, Garrett," the boxman happily corrected, his index finger held aloft, "Feastday is a Pagan tradition, brought into recent popularity by that new farm-focused cult, the Growers."
"What would you know about it?"
"I know it's a day to help others, rather than arguing with yer oldest friend. That's just common knowledge, unless you're an antisocial grump," Basso argued. "I also know it's a time to help people, which is what Sophie and I do every year."
"Helping people?!" Gwenevere's wide eyes brightened at the prospect. "Can I assist you guys? Please?!"
"Sure ya can, kiddo!" Basso released a hearty belly laugh, "that's what you've been training fer, ain't it? Heck, we should all go!"
Basso and Gwenevere both turned in unison, eying the thief with a myriad of expectations. None of which he had any desires of fulfilling.
"Forget it," Garrett answered, looking at Basso. "My working relationship with your sister is shaky at best. Besides, kids and I really don't mix…"
"Kids?" Gwenevere's expression turned inquisitive.
"And that's my cue to get going," Garrett sighed, turning his back on the both of them in pursuit of the door. "See ya, Gwenevere. If I believed in it, I'd wish you luck."
He reached for the knob, but Basso's incessant protests stopped him first.
"Aww, come on, mate! Just fer a couple of hours?" the boxman coaxed. Garrett peered over his shoulder, glowering down at his chubby associate from the darkened recesses of his cowl.
"I don't like kids. Never have, never will," the thief growled. "They're loud, stupid, and they get on my nerves."
From the look on his face, Garrett could tell Basso was about to object. But he declined at the last moment—a most fortuitous decision. Instead, the boxman rubbed his stubbly chin and chose a different avenue of inquiry.
"Speakin' o' which, you seem awfully moody today. Even more than usual. What crawled up yer arse last night, huh?"
Garrett took one last look at Gwenevere as she bounced jovially from one foot to the next. Shaking his head, he reached for the doorknob.
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you…" he muttered, leaving the pitiful dankness of Basso's abode without another word.