Satero went chasing after everything, from rainbows to stars to Corosa (whenever he tried to climb trees, or practice shooting, or do anything that involved his only remaining arm). Corosa started to wonder whether such a long period of nothing but the wilderness and Corosa's (silent, banal) company was driving the mastersmith insane. Or whether he'd simply never grown up.
Corosa had given up on persuading Satero to preserve his health and use his leg as little as possible. If Satero was in a good mood, he'd counter that enough time had passed for it to heal. If he was in a bad mood, he'd ignore Corosa and, in fact, run faster. It was infuriating, but Corosa eventually came to the conclusion that he'd simply have to deal with it. There was no winning with the man. So this time, when Satero blinked ahead at the road and caught sight of the rainbow-tinted mist, Corosa didn't stop him when he ran out ahead.
That, and it gave Corosa some time to himself. It was a hard change going from two years of solitude to constant company. He wasn't quite used to it, and Satero's stubbornness didn't make things any easier. That, and the disconcerting things he'd done back near Geffen. They hadn't mentioned that period of time since they hit the road again. It was an uneasy peace, but Corosa was willing to settle for it.
"You're so goddamn slow," Satero growled, when Corosa finally caught up. The anger in his voice wasn't genuine. This time, Corosa didn't even have to look at Satero's expression to be sure of that.
He looked up anyway, and was rewarded with an eyeful of Satero's grin. Then he looked away to glance at the sky. There wasn't much to see through the mist. He supposed the mist itself was rather breathtaking, shot through with rays and stained with colors, but Corosa didn't care much for scenery.
"If you'd wanted me to follow--" he started, but wasn't allowed to finish.
"Don't ya start bitchin' at me." Satero smacked him on the back of his head, causing Corosa to stumble forward a few steps, swearing as he nearly lost balance. Satero caught him with one hand, as the other was carrying Corosa's guncase for him.
"You hit too hard," Corosa grumbled, in all seriousness. Any hit landed on him was too hard.
"You're such a little bitch. C'mon, let's keep go-- who the fuck is that?"
Something in Satero's voice, a sharpening, a grinding, made Corosa look up, suspicion trickling its way through his body again. But Satero grabbed his head and forced him to turn his attention elsewhere, ahead of them. Further ahead into the mist, where things blurred and ran into each other.
There was something ahead. Some silhouette, some parody of a human figure drifting through the fog towards them. There was something vaguely unsettling about it, but Corosa attributed it to the mist. He frowned and groped for his gun, quickly trying to recall whether there were any human-shaped monsters around here.
"Wait," Satero muttered, putting a hand over Corosa's. But at the same time, he still pushed Corosa behind him. "I don't think it's--"
The thing came closer. Corosa could have sworn the mist swirled unnaturally for a split second, but the next moment nothing seemed out of place and the silhouette had come into full view.
Now Corosa couldn't recall why he'd been unsettled by its appearance. The stranger looked entirely harmless, if a bit...contained, Corosa thought. That was the only word he could think up. It was the newcomer's coiled shoulders, the glare from beneath his hair, the hands shoved into his pockets that suggested a folding inwards of the self. That, and he was small. Almost tiny. Far shorter than either Satero or Corosa.
And he looked just as wary -- and human -- as Corosa did.
"Didn't think anyone else came this way," the stranger said. He sounded hostile right off the bat. Almost as if to further enforce this impression, he swept around Satero and Corosa but didn't continue on down the road, instead turning around to observe them from behind. He hadn't taken his hands out of his pockets yet. That was what Corosa kept his attention on.
"Are you twins?" the stranger snapped, suddenly. As if this were something infuriating.
"No," Corosa answered, trying to ease his wrist out of Satero's grip. Satero had decided to grab on at some point, and it was beginning to unnerve Corosa. He didn't like the feeling of -- well, having no hands. Having no free hands.
"Not even brothers," Satero added, taking no notice of Corosa's attempts to free himself.
"Huh," the stranger said, and Corosa thought he heard contempt. At the least, there was disbelief. "Where are you goin'?"
"Why?" Satero asks, meeting the stranger's hostility with his own. Corosa could feel him bristle. "Listen, we don't even know your name an' you're askin' us--"
"Blackened," was the terse answer, cutting Satero off in the middle of his sentence. "Only because I have a shitty real name. What about you?"
"Doesn't matter," Satero said, sounding just as irritated. He turned around and stormed off, dragging Corosa along with him.
"What the crap is your problem?" Blackened came after them, moving faster than Corosa expected. He seemed to glide on right over the ground, cutting through the mist to catch up with them.
"You sure as hell shouldn't be talkin'," Satero hissed, coming to a halt. Only then did Corosa manage to twist his arm free. He immediately took a step back, to dissuade Satero from making another grab for it.
Satero was too preoccupied with chewing Blackened out to notice. He took a step as well, but away from Corosa, towards Blackened.
"You're the one who came in and started kicking the shit up," he continued. "Who the hell are you, anyway?"
Blackened seemed taken aback, but only for a moment. His surprise was quickly replaced with anger again, eyes narrowing and almost disappearing under his hair. "Shit, all right, I'll move my ass out" --and he immediately turned away, looking even further drawn inwards than before--
"--Just."
Just one word, and nothing more, a whisper hanging in the air that only Corosa seemed to hear. He turned to look at Satero, but the mastersmith was limping off again, apparently dead set against hearing another word. So it was left to Corosa to turn to Blackened, who had stopped with his back turned towards them.
"What?" Corosa asked, for the sake of wrapping things up.
"Just...you seen another priest around? Missing an eye. Sorta tall and skinny." The words came out of Blackened's voice in a rush, and were curiously devoid of any emotion. None of the aggression of before.
"No," Corosa said. They hadn't seen anyone around, lately.
"Oh," Blackened replied. Then he started walking again, without another word.
Corosa was all ready to turn around and catch up to Satero and forget this encounter entirely, except he couldn't help but replay one sentence in his mind and then concentrate on one word. 'Another priest'?
"Are you with the Church?" Corosa asked, looking back over his shoulder. But Blackened was already rather far and Corosa's voice wasn't loud to begin with, so he was forced to take a few quick steps after Blackened and repeat his question, raising his voice.
"What?" Blackened turned around. He didn't look any different from before. Just as moody, just as sulky. "Yeah. I am. Was there for a while, anyway."
Corosa weighed the options. Satero and Blackened hadn't hit it off very well. Hadn't hit it off at all, in fact, and for once Corosa couldn't blame Satero in the slightest. But that didn't change certain matters, like the fact that Satero had two injuries that needed attention. Corosa's treatment was hardly any substitution for a priest's.
"Satero -- the mastersmith back there -- he has some wounds that need looking at..." Corosa trailed off as soon as he saw Blackened's lip curl into a sneer.
"Are you really askin' me to--"
"Yes," Corosa interrupted, finding the general atmosphere of animosity starting to affect him as well. But there really was no helping it; the priest's attitude wasn't entirely conducive to a cordial conversation.
The sneer disappeared, replaced with a sudden blank look. It was almost as disconcerting as Blackened's previous resentment.
"What injuries?" Blackened asked, starting to circle. That was certainly distracting, if not downright worrying. Movements more befitting an assassin than a priest. As if Blackened was sizing Corosa up, never mind the ridiculous height difference.
"Gunshot through the leg. And a cut through his shoulder." Corosa thought a while more, then came to the conclusion of, "That's all."
"Huh. How long ago? Mind you, I'm askin' you because I don't think he'd answer." Blackened stopped circling, leaving him between Corosa and Satero, who was now somewhere far down the road.
Corosa began to walk towards Satero again, hoping that Blackened would follow. "I don't know. A week? A week and a half? Maybe two..." He couldn't quite keep track. Corosa never saw any need to, not when he was by himself. Not when he and Satero were by themselves, either.
"That's a while," Blackened said, following just as Corosa had hoped. "Infection shoulda set in by now, if you didn't get someone else to do anything 'bout it."
Corosa shrugged. "I did what I could."
"Whatever. Just hold him down and shut 'im up, I don't think he'll like me treating him," Blackened said grimly, rolling his sleeves up.
A few moments later, Blackened was proved entirely correct. Satero stared at Corosa as Corosa tried to explain, and then proceeded to swear and make a run for it.