32nd of Spring 515AV
Nothing soured his chipper mood more than Hirem. Like a splash of ink in a water basin, the Benshira’s poisonous presence spread through his veins. Come supper, the dark-skinned giant would always pick the spot opposite to him, as if he distrusted him to the point of being incapable to hold a ladle. And every time the Benshira plonked down, making the table shake, Tim’s heart slowed to a growling thrum and all his muscles tightened like strings. Whenever he met those brown, twinkling eyes all his being replied with a silent cacophony of dissonant emotions.
On the one hand there was no denying the man had saved him from the streets and granted him a place to stay. For that he was grateful. On the other, Hirem simply would not leave him be. Chime after chime, he felt watched, his every move observed by the tall, broad Benshira. Still the bouncer complained about him being too skinny, even though almost every spare moment was spent eating or going out with Scrapper. Still he would be lectured about Yahal and his pious ways. Still Hirem insisted that he grow not only taller, but stronger too. It was a small miracle the Benshira hadn’t taken it upon himself to find him a girl too. Thank the Gods. That would be embarrassing…
At first he’d thought it was because Hirem worried he’d taken to stealing again. While he still enjoyed picking Aweston’s pocket to prank the groom, he had stayed his hands from the pockets of strangers. Oh yes, the thrill of taking without notice sent happy chills down his spine, but the risk was much too great. Just stalking someone, reaching out…the mere thought of doing that again tightened his throat. Even back in Winter he hadn’t been so much brave as he’d been desperate. He remembered all too well the queasy feeling, his legs turning into noodles just moments before slipping his hand into someone’s purse. Far too often he’d been caught, and he was glad to have stopped that career before anyone had cared to press charges.
Comforted somewhat by the warm, rapidly breathing pile of fur near his ankle, Timothy met Hirem’s gaze with mild scorn. At least Scrapper hadn’t such a terrible sense of humor, or the habit to speak of Gods when he was least interested in the matter. He promised himself to ask Kavala if it was possible to magically transform someone into a dog. Everyone would be much better off for it as -he imagined- dog-Hirem would cut an intimidating figure and did a splendid job of growling and grumbling anyway.
Finishing up his mushroom soup as fast as he could, Timothy brought the bowl to his lips and poured the hot substance down his throat. Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, Hirem was given another scowl; different from the ones thrown at him during Winter. It was not bottled-up fury, but genuine annoyance that shone through like a baleful light. “What’s the matter with you?” His spoon clattered into his bowl as he seized Hirem up with his eyes. “Why do you keep following me around? Why can’t you just leave me be? Have I done something wrong, or do the bruises I gave you still hurt?” He jutted his chin at Hirem’s wrist where he’d managed to land a strike during one of their training sessions; sessions that had become more and more infrequent as the ravine between them widened.
This time however, he hadn’t sought to tear himself lose from the desert wanderer. Hirem had done that himself. What an idiot he was if he thought he could keep his alcoholism a secret. Everyone knew Hirem’s new best friend was the bottle. Everyone knew the sheepishly giggling fool, stumbling through the streets of Riverfall at the break of Dawn was Hirem The Strong. What an apt name for a man with the spine of a wet rag.
“Don’t think I don’t notice you’ve been eyeing me, because I do. You’re terrible at pretending there’s nothing going on when there clearly is. Don’t you think I deserve to know why you come to sit with me always? Don’t you trust me? Or maybe you think I am too young and too stupid…” The last few words were dripping with venom. “Oh he’s just a child,” Timothy said in a mock, gruff voice, “he’s just a sad little boy who knows nothing and steals and does bad things, but I Hirem the wise shall make sure the little vagabond will not wander astray!” He ended his cynical imitation there. “Is that it? Is that why?” A narrow silence followed before Timothy decided to slander Hirem fully. He deserved it, most of all in front of The Sanctuary, perhaps then he would change his ways.
“…or are you drunk again? It makes you reek. I can smell you coming before I hear or see you a. You’ve become sluggish and fat and lazy. Or maybe you’re just jealous that I have a proper job while you waste all your money on filth and bottles and probably petch a few whores while you’re at it. By the Gods, what has happened to you?”