020: ALL THAT I HAVE
The shards of glass weren't much to go off, but it was all Corosa had. He'd completely lost track of Satero after what had happened last night, hadn't started to care until the light filtered in between the branches, raw and burning. There, standing in beneath the dying shadows, it suddenly struck him as to how oddly silent it was. His mind had long since reduced the background noise of the forest into a low buzz, near-unnoticeable in comparison to anything else. But there's no longer anything else to compare it to, because Corosa had driven Satero off -- or was it the other way around? Other way around...he would have liked to believe that.
He set his case down and flipped it open, all for no particular reason aside from the need for something to do. His hands -- hand -- had a life of its own. Moved on its own. Always needed movement, which resulted in useless actions sprouting from the depths of nowhere. Corosa didn't know where the habit had sprung from. Birth, maybe, or the amputation. Perhaps Anaya had complained of it once or twice. His memory doesn't reach that far back.
Would Satero still be around? This was where they'd parted ways last night. The glass was still there. Corosa found himself wondering why Satero had bothered to come all this way, from Geffen to this road, carrying those shards between his fingers all the way only to drop them later. Drunk, Corosa decided. That was the easiest explanation.
Corosa closed the case without ever having touched its contents. Then he straightened his back, took a step away, and frowned at it. The thing slowed him down, was always a bitch to deal with when anything attacked him out of nowhere. More so now that he only had one hand. But it was a necessity.
He turned his back on it, marking the spot out and committing it to memory. Out of the corner of his eyes, he noted the sharpness of sunlight on glass and how it the light looked like a razor, edges tapering to solid points. But he strode off down the road before he could commit that to memory.
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Satero appeared shortly after the gun was shot off, and contrary to Corosa's memory of him, his footsteps could be silent. Corosa had sworn at whatever had been rustling in the bushes behind him, and then turned around to come face-to-face with what looked like a damncorpse.
He immediately jumped back, gun halfway raised before he recognized the teeth and the cigarette dangling from between.
"Hey," Satero said. He raised a hand in salute. Before he let it fall back to his side, he pulled the cigarette out to drop it on the floor.
The man looked dead. There were scratches on his face, some of them looking fresh, the others scabbed over. No bruises that Corosa could see, but Satero moved like his bones were about to break.
"Was lookin' for ya," Satero said, taking a small step forwards. Then he laughed, and raised an eyebrow at the gun. "Ya can put that down, I ain't -- gonna kill ya, or anythin'."
Corosa wondered if that was some unintentional reference to last night. Nevertheless, he let his hand drop. "Where were you?" Innocent enough of a question.
"Told ya. Searchin'." Satero shrugged, then winced. Only then did Corosa notice that the mastersmith wasn't looking at him. Odd -- usually was the other way around. But in the light of everything, perhaps it was only to be expected.
"Sorry. I wandered off." Corosa averted his own gaze as well. He felt like he was invading Satero's privacy, watching him while Satero wasn't returning the stare.
"Yeah, I figured. Nah. It's okay, I did too. I, uh, went back. Actually."
"Went back to where?" Corosa turned to face him, then.
Satero muttered something that seemed to involve Geffen, and as far as Corosa was concerned, he did not need to know anything more than that. Things were easy enough to piece together from there. The pieces were all there. It was not a hard puzzle.
"In the dark," Corosa muttered. Soft enough that Satero didn't hear him, and Corosa decided not to call him out on it. "Are you..." Corosa shakes his head, and decides not to take the lengthier way about it. His voice changes, sharpens. "Did you get into more fights?"
Satero finally met his eyes, blinking. "Yeah."
As if that was the only right answer. Perhaps it was, for Satero. Corosa wasn't sure what was and wasn't normal for Satero now, never had been. Hadn't known the man for long enough. Same in appearance, maybe, and differed everywhere else.
"Are you alright, then?" It was a space-filler of a question. Corosa didn't know what else to say in that awkward silence.
"Yeah. 's nothin'." Satero took another small step closer. He hadn't taken his eyes of Corosa after he'd finally turned. All of a sudden, he jerked his head away again. This time to look at something to Corosa's right. "You? You okay?"
Corosa runs his hand through his hair. "Yes." Somewhat. Some of those small scrapes from yesterday turned out to be deeper than he'd thought. He hadn't been able to tell properly in the dark, when relying on little more than the messages of pain. But it was still nothing serious, nothing he would not recover from.
"Just a nuisance while shooting," he added. He'd just found that out, having shot off at whatever seemed ready to sneak up on him. Each cut had stung when he'd twitched his fingers.
The area around Geffen, what was here? Anything dangerous? He couldn't recall. Maybe it didn't matter -- except Satero was still limping from that shot through his leg. Oh, that'd been Corosa's fault.
"No, I mean--" Satero cut himself off to spend a moment contemplating his words. Finally, he sighed and muttered, "I mean, like, yesterday. Last night. All that."
Corosa tilted his head back to the side, contemplating Satero and the look of obvious guilt spreading over the other's face. Eyes averted, brows pinched together, mouth curved downwards. Somehow, Corosa got the sense that Satero had been wallowing in something very close to misery for the whole night. Corosa couldn't quite find the right amount of sympathy, though.
"Were you drunk?" Corosa asked. It was an honest question. He had his doubts.
"Yeah," Satero said immediately. Was that too quickly? Corosa couldn't decide on that, either. But it the nervousness was definitely there, in the way Satero kept flicking at his hair. In the way that neither of them said anything for a long while.
Then--
"Okay, sort of," Satero started, voice sounding somewhat stronger than before. His steps became longer -- almost his usual, confident pace, if one ignored the injury. He closed the distance between them without hesitancy.
He laughed, nervously, a breathy sort of chuckle. "Listen -- I, I didn't know what the hell I was thinkin', okay? I was drunk. Half-drunk. An' more than half stupid--"
But Corosa was already trying to pull himself away. Satero, apparently subconsciously, put both hands on Corosa's shoulders and held him there, fingers tightening in. And all of a sudden Corosa decided he didn't want to hear the explanation. It'd only make things worse. The reason wasn't as simple as the influence of alcohol running through Satero's veins. Corosa could see that it'd been something more than that; now he merely did not want to know what that 'something' was.
"No, it's alright," Corosa said, wearily. "I don't need to hear it. So long as that's the last time." He flicked his gaze back towards the mastersmith for an instant. Corosa didn't think he'd seen Satero look more miserable at any point in his life -- pure misery. Not even a hint of what seemed to be the usual, obligatory irritation or mockery.
Hopefully that meant something.
Satero tilted his head back, opened his mouth, and then shut it. He twisted his lips into a crooked frown and studied Corosa.
Finally, he asked, "Ya hate me?"
Corosa sighed. "What sort of question is that? Would it matter? You'd follow--"
Crooked frown into a crooked smile. "Damn right I would."
And that was it, wasn't it? Corosa was sure the subject of last night would eventually arise again, at some point when they both gathered up enough anger at each other to bring it back. But until then, he was glad enough to leave it as it was. Forge some sort of fragile peace.
Too tired for this shit.
Corosa closed his eyes. "Then just leave it there. Don't let it happen again."
"I swear I will," Satero muttered back.
Shrugging Satero's hands off, Corosa took a step back and said, "I'll hold you to that. May we leave now, then? I left my things somewhere behind."
And though Satero had agreed, when Corosa opened his eyes to look at him, it was easy enough to see that the man still seemed unsatisfied. Wanting something else. Or perhaps he was just exhausted as well. Satero's head was cocked to the side, hair falling over his face, eyes blank, narrowed, and mouth curled downwards again. Could be the look of someone disappointed or someone who desperately needed rest. Satero certainly fit that last description.
"Did you sleep at all?" Corosa asked.
Satero snorted derisively. Whatever had been hanging around him, be it weariness or dissatisfaction, evaporated somewhat. "Hah. No."
That answered that question, then.
"Mm. You want to rest?" Corosa had gone through sleepless nights, more than one at a time. And his sleep was usually unrestful in any case. Satero, on the other hand, was used to resting.
Satero shrugged at the question. Then he took a single step, as if to move past Corosa.
Something blanked out, and Corosa couldn't recall whether it was him or Satero. Him, he thought, after it had ended. He couldn't recall anything of the moment except for a brief dizziness in which he suddenly was no longer sure who he was, let alone where he was. All he recalled was the sparkle of gold and silver, cold metal against his lips, the taste of rust on his tongue, and then what seemed like an explosion from the inside out -- floor leaking away like so much water draining into a darkness deeper than miles can measure --
With a dismissive flick of his wrist, Satero shoved past Corosa.
"Fuck you," he said, then put his hand over a yawn. "C'mon, let's go."
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AN:AND YOU THOUGHT I WAS DEAD
thank you, that is all.
also dear ffnet please stop mashing my italicized words together with their neighbors that's not nice some of them don't like wordsex