Chapter 1: Poor Misguided Fool

(based on the Starsailor song of the same name, I don't own SHIT)

(TwoKinds is the property of Thomas Fishbach, I'm just butchering his setting and characters because I liked them.)

It was easy to pretend that things were alright.

Always had been for him. Even when they were not, Cedric figured he could always be worse-off than whatever he happened to go through at the time. And no matter how bad it got, that mindset never left him. It is what got him through the toughest parts of his life, after all. "No use in crying over spilled milk, it is what it is." He had it so much easier than so many people out there, so really, could he even complain? Sure, he wanted to, but those who would listen were in the same boat as him, some likely worse as well. Preaching to the choir. The thought of it made him feel like a hypocrite, and the man hated that.

Momentum was the name of the game, and he had become an expert in the field. Nearly as much of one as he was on the guitar, anyway. Just keep moving forward, don't let things catch up to you. Don't let past mistakes weigh you down. God knows he's made his fair share of those already…

It was unhealthy, but Cedric had long acknowledged that fact, and embraced it.

He likened it to cigarettes, at one point. Maybe his smoking habits made it an easier pill to swallow. Didn't make it any less wrong, but at least, it was something he could live with. For the longest time, it's been just him on the road, guitar pick in hand, running away from things only he could perceive. That still hadn't changed, more or less, even when he managed to get a stable enough income and settle down. These past few years were both a spiritual journey just as much as they were a physical one, and while his body had since found a way to anchor itself, his mind had not. Always in motion, always on the run from something.

In a way, one could say this current predicament was a blessing in disguise. A fresh start. A place where all of his old woes could no longer reach him, where he could say with full sincerity that he managed to escape them. Through no work of his own, mind you, but there he was nonetheless.

For Cedric awoke not to the smell of plaster and mold, but to that of grass and soil.

It was different. Strangely pleasant, in spite of the worrying implications that his mere presence outside of his home brought up. The man lived in an apartment block, there weren't any greener pastures even remotely near his vicinity. The blades of grass tickling at his bare arms, damp with dew, did nothing to ease his growing worries. Neither did the darkness, nor the cold chill of the wind as it brushed past him and made his body shiver.

His eyes opened to be greeted by the most vibrant, expansive and beautiful night sky he ever beheld. Cedric had never seen that many stars all at once before, and in spite of his situation, the sheer sight of it still took his breath away. A man of art, he was, and what his eyes were feasting upon was nothing short of nature's masterpiece. It was almost enough to make him forget the cold. Almost.

Drawing in a breath through his teeth, the man pushed himself up by the elbows, into a sitting position. Arms crossed over his chest, releasing a stuttering sigh, Cedric rubbed at his upper arms, trying to warm up and conserve body heat. Weather this chilly, especially when damp, was never pleasant. As he got up onto his feet, the man took a good look around him.

Well, it was pretty goddamn dark alright.

Still, he was able to make out an approximation of his surroundings. A small meadow, with a nearby river whose stream he could clearly hear flowing past, colored black by the night and dotted with the reflection of the moon and stars. To his right rose tall trees, of a type of wood he didn't recognize, making up a dense forest he had no desire to engage with. A path of dirt or gravel marred the scenery like an ugly scar, leading up towards a nearby hill. Or was it a plateau? Cedric could barely discern faint specs of light on the horizon, and it was with no small amount of relief that he realized civilization was nearby. Relatively.

If his possible kidnapper wanted him dead and gone, they had done a piss-poor job of it.

It was then that Cedric remembered that yes, that was indeed the kind of situation he was in, and the panic that tried to settle in earlier came back in full force. Where on God's green earth did he end up? How? Why, even? What happened to him? Looking down towards himself, Cedric patted his body all over, checking out for any signs of damage, any missing bits, which he was relieved to find none of. He was dressed in a plain, dark grey henley, with his old stitched-up khakis to cover his legs, and wearing those brown oxfords that made him feel all fancy. If anything, these patchwork pants were reliable, so there was little to worry about on that front.

All in all, his fashion sense was atrociously bad, but not to an offensive degree. At least, not at first glance. Cedric knew, and he didn't care in the slightest. People hadn't yet ran away at the mere sight of him, so he considered his apparel adequate. Reaching into his pockets revealed a couple of good things, and some bad, which Cedric took immediate notice of.

His phone was gone, first off. He would know, he had searched every crevice of his pantaloons, to no avail. What he had instead fished up from the depths of the fabric were a pack of smokes, a lighter, a pair of headphones, a melted Snickers bar and a lone quarter, among other things.

No phone meant no calling anyone for help, no GPS, no telling the time, no flashlight. But worst of all… No music.

Cedric wept.

Or, well, he would have, were it not for his other, more pressing concerns. Feeling his anxiety mounting, the tightness in his throat, Cedric was still very much on the verge of a panic attack. And so, he did what everyone else would have done in his position. Caving into his desires, Cedric opened the pack and shakily brought a cigarette to his lips, before doing the same with the lighter in his other hand. Taking a drag, the man let smoke fill his lungs, drawing in the thick, familiar scent of tobacco, before breathing it all out. In an instant, the world felt right again, and a sense of levity filled his head and chest.

He was never a compulsive smoker, but right now, he needed it. Badly.

He couldn't afford to let his emotions get the better of him, that never ended well for him. Letting the buzz of his cigarette fight back the fear and the cold, Cedric set his eyes to those faraway city lights, or so he assumed, gleaming in the distance. It seemed quite a ways away, but that was probably his best bet right now. He may not have his wallet on hand, but surely a good Samaritan could spare some time and service for a poor man with naught but a quarter to his name? He sure hoped that would be the case, anyhow.

Ashes spilled onto his fingers as his death-stick slowly reduced in length, which he brushed off his skin absentmindedly. Taking it out and gently tapping at the back, Cedric watched as more ashes flaked off the smoldering tip and fell down onto the ground below, like snowflakes in winter. It was a good analogy, he thought, one that he liked. Made him feel a bit better about smoking alone, he didn't usually do that.

Finishing up, he briefly hesitated before tossing the spent filter onto the dirt path, extinguishing the embers as he stepped onto it and drove it into the ground. He did make a brief apology to mother nature in his head, for the five hundred or so years it would take her to get rid of it. In his defense, there wasn't a trashcan in sight, and he wasn't gonna hold onto the damn thing all the way to town.

Speaking of, it's about time he started to make his way there already. Walking down the road, at dead of night, all on his lonesome. Despite the peculiar circumstances involved here, he couldn't say he was entirely unfamiliar with the experience. What he was indeed unfamiliar with, however, was nearly tripping upon something solid after the fifth step he took, barely managing to regain his balance before his face could get acquainted with the ground and finally answer the burning question of "dirt or gravel." As he leaned down to pick it up, Cedric's hands wrapped around its circumference, sliding up towards the handle's shaft and onto the strings, before he finally realized what it is he was holding.

A guitar. In fact, not just any guitar. It was his old acoustic dreadnought! He'd played it pretty recently, too, it was one of his trusty favorites. There was no way he could forget the shape of it, how it felt in his hands with all its scratches and scabs, how the steel strings were just the right amount of scuffed…

To be truthful, it wasn't hard to pick favorites when your collection consisted of only two pieces. And his only other one had nylon strings, which just… Didn't have the same twang as this one did. It had served him well over the years, and God willing, it would keep on doing so in the future. The man had no idea how his guitar had ended up here in the first place, but at this point, he knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Maybe things weren't so bad after all!

Flipping the instrument over to check for any damage on the back side, the man heard something fall out of the guitar's body, and spent what must've been a good ten minutes looking for it on the ground before finding out that it was a guitar pick. He preferred to play with his fingers for the most part, which is half the reason why his hands once looked as callused as they did, but picks still had their utility sometimes…

And so Cedric pocketed it for now, beginning his trek to town. What began as a walk quickly turned into a light jog to keep himself warm, with many intermittent pauses to catch his breath. He'd let himself go over the years, and while he did enjoy running, he was by no means fit enough to build a respectable amount of endurance. The sweat that was now upon his skin probably won't help much in this weather, which he hadn't considered until now, but the harm was already done. And so, the man kept jogging.

He probably would've continued for half an hour more had a noise not grabbed his attention from behind him, and looking back, Cedric could see something getting closer. It was a wooden cart, dragged by two horses along the road, its lone lantern loosely hanging on to the side of it, lighting up the way. A figure was hunched over at the front, holding the horses' reins as they calmly trotted along towards the same direction he was heading.

As he came to a halt and waited for the driver to notice him, Cedric thought about what he could say not to blow his chance at safe passage.

"Hey!" Raising his hand, the man called out towards the cart when it was close enough, and as the driver finally looked up at him, they halted. Cedric walked up to it, passing by the two scrawny and haggard-looking equines before coming face to face with the hooded individual. It was a man of respectable age, wrinkled face and semi-long grey hair that met his gaze, and his piercing green eyes widened a fraction as they peered upon the guitarist's form.

"Well, son, what'cha doin' out here so late?" The old man asked him, his eyes briefly glancing over at his instrument, but without commenting on it. "Fancy yourself a night owl?"

"It's a long story." Cedric replied, smiling sheepishly up at him. "You mind giving me a lift to that city over there? I don't have any money to pay you with, but I'm sure we could work something out…"

Hearing that, the man's face seemed to sour, and Cedric was worried for a second before the reply registered. "Feh! Just get on, sonny. How much of a man would I be if I wrung a poor boy dry?" With that, the old man scooted to the side, and patted the spot next to him.

"Thank you sir, you have no idea how much this helps…" With a grunt, Cedric pulled himself up to sit beside the elderly man, who to his surprise, handed him a cloak similar to what he was wearing.

"C'mon, dress up." He said. "You'll catch something otherwise."

Accepting the cloak with a grateful nod and a smile, the guitar player fitted it snugly around his shoulders and put the hood upon his head. The inside was lined with fur of some kind, and felt silky and warm to the touch. Evidently, his companion must've noticed his reaction to the fabric, because his face was soon split by a knowing smile.

"Fox pelt." The old man merely said. "Spent a lotta coin on those, sewn 'em together myself. I'll take it back once we're someplace warmer, but for now, you can use it…"

"Thanks, sir" Cedric replied, before seeing him frown again.

"And cut it out with that sir nonsense, makes me feel old! Well, older…" The man let out a snort, gently tapping the reins against the horses as the cart began to move again. "Just call me Jeremy, son. And you are?"

"Cedric. Cedric Mackenzie. Good to meet you."

"Well, I can imagine..." The man told him, chuckling. "You prolly been walking for a while, haven't 'cha?"

"Less than you'd think." Cedric responded. "But more than I feel comfortable with."

With a knowing hum, Jeremy looked back to the road, silently appraising the distance remaining. They'd reach the village before dawn, that much was certain. Scratching at his cheek, the old man rolled his shoulders, emitting an amount of cracking and popping noises that probably wasn't healthy. It was a little while before the two men shared another conversation.

"I'll say…" Jeremy began. "You don't look like the type to go around much. Could use some more meat on your bones. You's a bard, or something?" He gestured at the guitar in Cedric's hands.

"You could say that, yeah." The younger man replied, deciding to ignore the jab at his scrawny self.

"For how long?" The old man asked.

"A couple years, now..."

"Well I'll be damned." Jeremy whistled in appreciation. "Don't see many folks dedicated to the craft anymore. You any good at it?"

"What do you think." Cedric's deadpan was all-consuming. It gave the old-timer a good laugh.

It was a pretty useless question, in hindsight, but not one that Cedric minded. The guitarist found himself smiling as Jeremy came down from his brief uproar, looking at him with no small amount of mirth.

"Oh, forgive an old man for wanting to make sure." He said, the smile never leaving his face.

To that, the guitarist let out an amused exhale, glancing back at the distant village with a shake of his head. He could see it was an actual village now, not a city or town. The lights were cluttered, either lanterns or windows, and the area they covered looked pitifully small in comparison to what he was used to.

"Do you take requests?"

"I doubt we know the same songs, Jeremy." Cedric replied. Nothing against the old-timer, but Jeremy looked like a medieval peasant, and probably hadn't listened to anything made in the last two decades other than country music, which… Wasn't Cedric's forte, to be completely honest.

"True, that…" The old man nodded, slightly pensive. "Hm. Mind playing me something of yours, then? Consider it payment for my, ah, generosity."

"Oh, uh, sure."

Scrounging his memory for something decent he could play, Cedric finally settled on a lesser-known piece he liked to perform on occasion. He figured the old man might like it. It would sound a bit bare without the bass, piano, drums or subtle synths, but still pleasant to hear. He could supplant some of those by adding his own flair while playing, anyway. It was hard to mess up a Starsailor song unless you really tried, or didn't deserve to own a guitar in the first place. And these strings were ones Cedric had earned through blood, sweat and tears.

Quite literally, on some occasions. Truly, it was a right miracle he still had fingers to play with.

Strumming at his instrument, Cedric substituted the drumming with his foot, tapping his sole rhythmically onto the wooden plank-thingy of the cart's seating space, below him. While muffed by the sounds of the wheels and horse hooves against the road, it was good enough. As chords began to fill the air with sound, gentle yet steady, the guitar player let himself be carried by them, nodding along to the beat as he let out a content sigh and closed his eyes. Jeremy turned to him in surprise when he began to sing, youthful voice rich with emotion.

Melodies and lyrics of another world rang out into the night. And Mekkan listened. And Mekkan heard.

"As soon as you sound like him.~

Give me a call…~"