Summer, Day 21, 515AV
He could almost hear the remaining chimes of Day Two draining away. Trickling through the funnel of this thrice damned curse like some kind of harrowing, morbid preamble. Because, to be certain, the knowledge alone that in a matter of bells your skin would splitting open and bleeding from a dozen different places wasn't plaguing enough on its own.
Noven stared into the murky, fish-smelling depths of his kelp beer. Coming here had been his last resort. Normally, the tried and true method of Vexing someone in some nondescript alleyway would have sufficed. But it hadn't taken long for the locals to catch wind of some nefarious sadist wreaking unimaginable pain on those unfortunate enough to be wandering about on their own. Even the scummiest of scum had begun hitting the streets with a friend or two in tow, and that spelled nothing but trouble for the Sunberthian.
Loosing a frustrated breath through his nostrils, Nov took a swig of the dark green liquid in his mug. It tasted like brackish seawater. The kind that lapped closest to docks, and therefore to the heaving, stinking mass of humanity that hung around bustling harbors as well. In other words, it was petching awful.
But he wasn't here for the quality of the establishment's brew, the fugitive reminded himself. He was here for the quality of its customers. He took another draught, his mood growing blacker with each renewed meeting between beer and tongue. Things were rather quiet today, to his increasing disappointment, the midday heat having driven many Zeltivans of East Street into the dank confines of bars and taverns, where they slumped wearily in their seats, weighed down by the ever present burdens of poverty, and downed whatever piss water passing for booze they could afford.
Nov had always felt more at ease here than any of the other districts. The wealthy viewed East Street as a disease ridden dog to be put down, and those directly below them avoided speaking of it as if it were a cousin long since ostracized from the family. But to the Sunberthian, East Street was the closest thing to home he could find. He was one of them here. Not a disgusting eyesore or mistrusted miscreant, just another bloke with little coin to spare and likely a job to finish somewhere out in the city, escaping the afternoon heat for a drink and a moment of peace.
Except, of course, his idea of peace was going to mean a whole world of pain and misery for someone else. His only problem now was how to go about initiating said world of pain without getting himself dragged into more trouble than he was already in. Day Three was not something he looked forward to, and dying in some Zeltivan cell for getting caught inciting a brawl on Day Four...well, he'd rather cut his own throat than endure that kind of agonizing death.
To make matters worse, it wasn't just shooting pains and headaches he was forced to suffer. There was a terrible ache in his heart, too. The kind that no amount of distraction, drunkenness, or violence could dispel. Every waking moment of his day he had to feel it tugging at him incessantly, telling him he should be somewhere else, with someone else, because that was where he belonged.
But Noven knew as well as any of the former Scars that this was not possible. And there was still his past to consider. Still so much left to unearth with the aid of the harlot, the junior assistant, and the Myrian...
The Sunberthian took another giant, reckless swig from his mug and grimaced as the foul liquid slid greasily down his throat. This pain was different, he'd realized, from the others. Nov suspected it had something to do with the fact that he knew Keene was still alive and well somewhere on that Nuit run island, and not dead in some ditch after having been used as a plaything by mobsters. When the others had disappeared on him, the man experienced what he could only describe as losing his mind. He would interrogate those around him endlessly, going over every little event in the past days for any sign, any clue that there had been unhappiness or unease, before hitting the streets to search for them himself. Night after night, day after day, he went on like this, going as far as knocking in a few heads along the way out of sheer frustration. It ate him from the inside out, not knowing where they'd gone. What might have befallen them. Why they had chosen to leave without so much as a goodbye.
But this...this wasn't the feeling of going crazy. This was the feeling of wanting desperately to be somewhere that wasn't here. To be with the very thing he could not have because of what he--what both of them--refused to give up.
Nov ran an agitated hand through unruly locks. The pain was beginning to grow truly unbearable. His head throbbed, his limbs were lined with fire every few chimes, and his left knee jounced with dwindling patience. He had neither the energy nor luxury to be thinking of anything other than Vexing the shyke out of the first person he could get his hands on.
It's only a matter of time, he tried to reassure himself, only a matter of time before some unlucky bastard gets drunk enough for me to royally piss off...