26th of Autumn, 518
Laughter poured from the drummer's lips as he whirled through the streets of Sunberth. He cleaved through the crowds near Baroque Bay, weaving from side to side. It seemed that so many people were perfectly willing to sift as one with the crowd. Azcan? He was not. The drummer wove from person to person, his feet adopting a shuffle, his body swayed with the motion. A figure approached, and the drummer spun, avoiding them by what he could only imagine as being a hair's breadth. Azcan shifted left and write, a rhythm pouring into his mind. Laughter swelled as he relished in the path of Syna's waning light, the weak rainfall in the wake of the storm doing little to interrupt him. Further and further he got from Baroque Bay, a smirk cast upon his features. The drums slung about his shoulders swayed until he brought it right in front of him. The Illusionist played in spite of the crowd, his fingertips colliding into the leather drum head as a slow, steady rhythm matched the pace of his step. Azcan spun through the streets of Sunberth until a foreign force thrust him forward.
Azcan fell to the ground, his light brown eyes narrowed as he set his gaze on his perpetrator. It was a woman, several inches shorter than Azcan with light blue eyes that seemed to peer through him. Anger marked her countenance and the drummer couldn't, for the life of him, figure out why she looked so damn familiar. When he rose, she pushed him back again. Azcan's balance shifted with the motion and he found himself on his heels. So close he was to falling back before he let a leg sweep back and catch himself before the fall took him.
"What gives?" he asked the woman, arms stretching over his chest, his drum slung back behind him before she stepped forward and slapped him. Azcan wasn't the type to hit back when a woman attacked him, not out of any sense of chivalry, but rather because he'd feel immense sympathy if he came to hurt much of anyone. At least, insofar as their attacks weren't threatening to his life. This woman struck with open hands and he felt compelled to allow her to vent her frustrations. Dawning realization fell on him as he realized the body he stared at was familiar for more reasons than one. Flashes of memory stirred within him, the echo of drugs that filled his mind several moons before... The feel of flesh and flesh, tongue and neck set upon him as he narrowed his eyes.
Of course, he didn't remember her name. "Ummmm..." he began, an awkwardness as he tried to pilfer the weavework of the mind for a passable name.
"Sandra, you fucking jerk," she completed, light blue eyes obviously alight with hurt. "You never came back to me," she accused him, narrowing her eyes as the memory locked into place. Azcan deserted this woman to go to the Bolt Hole for work, leaving her in her bedroom as he climbed out of her window, presumably to never see her again.
Funny how things work out, he thought. The drummer had no destination, and while the idea of being confronted by a jilted bedmate didn't appeal to his sensibilities, in reality, he had nowhere else to be. So, he stood his ground and allowed her the moment of glaring at him before he answered her,
"Well, you never told me where you lived," he said, immediately regretting the words. He'd been at her fucking house. The drummer felt like a fool as the flush, one of rage, carried over her expression. She lashed out, closed fists raining down on him, her choppy attacks held up by Azcan raising both arms over his face. Awkwardly, the drummer defended himself, feeling the bite of her violence affect him more than he'd thought. Azcan, up until today, was somewhat lucky. He thought himself notoriously capable of avoiding the same faces over and over. And yet this happened more than once, first with Lani, and now with this? Admittedly, one was far more important than the other.
Azcan eventually coordinated a counter to her assault, opening his hands and catching both of her wrists. He kept her in his hold before he admitted to her,
"I'm sorry. I lied to you. I wasn't going to go back after work. Or the next day... Once is once, sometimes, but if it makes you feel better..." he trailed off, hoping she'd answer the query for him. His trailing words were met with a ceasing of her struggle against him. She let her arms go limp in his grasp up until,
"You're a fucking prick, Boy Wonder," she spat out, throwing his hands off of her wrists. Her gaze rained down on him in equal measures of hurt and venom. Azcan even felt a well of pity arise within him, and for the life of him, despite how awkward the encounter was he couldn't away. He was stuck and he found his light disposition wilting beneath the heat of her (admittedly lovely) stare. Azcan shivered with the moisture that welled against the bare flesh of his chest. His hair was matted to his scalp, falling over his eyes as he struggled to come to terms with what was happening.