gavspad

[gavspad]

The Vagrant

Gavin’s never really been a huge fan of alcohol. Lately, though, he’s taken to carrying a flask of sugar whiskey on his belt. He doesn‘t particularly enjoy the taste, nor the feeling of getting tipsy, but it gives him a good excuse to talk to people, so he keeps it on his person anyways.

“Howdy,” he starts, motioning to the unoccupied barstool in front of him. “This seat taken?” The girl in the crimson spectacles doesn’t seem particularly keen on answering his question, her back to the counter as she stares out at the bar. Her candy red lips stretch out in a subtle grin, her pale, dainty fingers swirling the wine glass they hold. He shrugs, taking the seat beside her, facing the crowd.

He sits in silence for a few moments, at a loss for words. Damn. He’s usually better at talking than this. Fucking drink.

“Yeah. Can’t really stand drinkin’ alone, hope you don’t mind too much,” he mutters, taking a swig of throat-burning moonshine.

“Oh, honey,” she says, her pretty voice laden with contempt for the vagrant beside her, “Even if you do sit there, you’re still drinking alone.”

Gavin’s just about to try and talk her ear off when someone else sits on his other side. His black hair is specked with gray, his right eye is covered by a cloth, and the slight wrinkling on his face gives his already downcast expression an even darker tone. The stranger orders a shot of whiskey.

“Drinking to forget,” he says, feeling the blonde Miqo’te’s eyes on him like a pair of daggers poking at his skin.

“Cheers,” the blonde kid says, raising a flask, “To that memory.”

The two of them tap drinks and down their share. They shoot the shit for a while before the conversation turns to the bar they’re in, and the city around it.

“See,” Gavin says, leaning against the counter, “That’s what gets me. This city’s got some kinda force that attracts folk here. Even so, there ain’t a soul in this town who ain’t either crazy or tryin’ to get out.”

The irritable man purses his lips and raises a questioning eyebrow. “What are you doing here, then?”

That’s a good question. Gavin’s mind wanders back to that single encounter those two long years ago. He’s back there again, fishing from the shallow stream in front of him. He hears a fight break out nearby.

It starts out relatively light, not really his concern, but then...the sounds. Wicked, unnatural sounds. The sounds of agony, of some horrible magicks tearing a man apart. Sounds that send a shiver up Gavin’s spine. He should’ve run, bolted like a madman and forgotten he’d ever heard anything. Instead, curiosity drove him to investigate.

By the time he reached the bridge the fight had taken place on, hiding behind a large boulder nearby, the victor was nowhere to be seen. An old Elezen with odd tattoos on his face lied dead, stabbed through the heart. Before Gavin even had time to realize what he was looking at, a group of mercenaries charges in. They look like bad news.

 The tall Hyur woman with the giant pair of swords seems to be leading the rest. Gavin huddles down behind the big, tan rock, shivering in his boots. Who the hell were these people? Why were they-

“Hey! Get the FUCK out here!”

His heart sinks. He knows they’re talking about him. He grits his teeth, raising his hands into the air and stepping out into view. “I-I didn’t see what happened! I just heard all the commotion, s-so I-”

A giant Roe in full plate armor grabs Gavin by the arm, tugging him forward. His voice is low and quiet, and Gavin is sure he’s only one bad answer away from being torn in half.

“Who. Did. This.”

Gavin’s in tears at this point, shaking his head and desperately trying to free his arm from the behemoth’s grasp. “I swear! I swear I ain’t seen nothin’!”

The Hyur woman falls to a knee, gently closing the dead Elezen’s eyes. “Take him with us,” she says, “I have plans for him.”

Gavin blinks his eyes a few times, returning back to reality. Shit, what was the question?

“I couldn’t tell you,” Gavin says, his gaze falling to the floor. “This place, the desert around it...they have a way of changin’ you. It’s on the wind.” He pauses, taking a deep breath. “Every time I get the feelin’ I need to come out this way, somethin’ big happens. Life changin’ big. I figure that, if I stick around long enough, that change is gonna come my way again.”

“Son,” the man beside him says, “You just said a whole lot of nothing at all.”

Gavin chuckles. “I figure that’s about right. Let’s just put it this way: I ain’t got no damn clue why I’m here, and I doubt I’ll be here long.”

The man sighs. “You’re just some alcoholic vagrant who finds joy in bothering strangers, then?”

“...”

The irritable middle-aged man stares long and hard at the boy. He can’t be very old. Hell, he might be a teenager. Regardless, he’s too damn young to be acting like this. He orders another shot. His last for the night.

“Cheers, kid,” he says, raising his glass. “To memories.”

“...Cheers.”

[gavspad]

On the Road Again

The sound of crickets chirping outside is deafened by the thick walls of Gavin’s room. He sighs, head resting lazily upon his big, oversized desk, covered in a mess of papers and scrolls as usual. He’s been home for less than two days, and already the itch to travel is tickling at the back of his neck. He can feel it in his legs; their muscles beg to move, to keep going forward until they can’t support their own weight anymore.

The piles of books beside him prove to be of no help in his search for an excuse to stay home. He’s read them all, and those few that he hasn’t finished are too boring to bear. The paintings on the walls don’t entertain him no matter how many times he stares at them. Another sigh escapes him. “Dayum,” he mutters, that low-class drawl of his accentuating his words, “Guess that’s that.”

He steps out into the main room. Empty. That’s not at all a surprise, but it is something of a disappointment. It’s always quiet and empty, these days. Gavin’s already dressed to head out. After grabbing a few provisions and checking to make sure he’s got everything he needs, he’s right back out the door, leaving home behind. To where is it that he’s going, exactly? Not even he knows.

And he’s perfectly fine with that.