Ignorant Farmers and Smart Men [Hadrian + Keating]

[Keating Ash]

“My advice…” Keating stated, even though Andry had not asked for any, “is to stay clear of this city. T’would be looking for trouble to set up shop here.” God! How he hated Ravok! He snorted. “Though you’ll not listen, I know that already. Why would you? I’m just a dumb farmer from a beaten down, destitute family... just about everyone of them dead...” Keating closed his eyes, as images of his lost siblings, and their gruesome deaths reappeared to haunt him. Chest pounding, despair dug its seductive fingers deeply in his heart. But Andry had stirred something within him, and the farmer’s mind couldn’t leave the thoughts of the farm alone. “No one listens. Rose never did… not even when-” When he had killed their father. Keating stopped suddenly, highly aware of what he what he had almost confessed. He had told no one. Ever... This was not something he would talk of, not to a stranger. And not to close friend. Hell, Cassandra didn’t even know of his tortuous past. Cautious now and on edge, Keating’s distrust grew. Something wasn’t right, though he couldn’t put his finger upon what it was. The feeling was still there – to share more. And instead of it being a relief to unburden himself, the farmer rebelled against it. The dark man’s eyes narrowed upon Andry. Taking a deep breath, the man’s chest filled, to pull upon the fabric that covered his barrel chest tightly.

[Hadrian]

Keating stood at a precipice, and Hadrian held his breath. Then he began to react badly and Hadrian struggled not to panic. He eased off on the emotional suggestion, but did not let it dissipate; he had thought about these things and figured that it was best not to stop all of a sudden, making it more obvious that he was influencing a person. He didn't get up, but he watched Keating like he was acting strangely. Well, he was. But Hadrian's senses were extended out into Keating's aura like a thin membrane waiting to feel the first faint breeze that presaged violence. At the same time he began to Flux djed into his own muscles, preparing them for fight or flight -- but probably flight. Part of him had been ready to invite the man to leave with him when the time came to go, but now he seemed suddenly like a bad person to have around. Unpredictability was not always a virtue. "What's the matter?"

[Keating Ash]

The way Andry looked at him made Keating wonder if he was overreacting. He didn’t like the idea; that was something the weak-willed were apt to do. But the farmer knew too well… it was always uncomfortable when the memories surfaced. And right now, his focus was off. But why? Why now? Keating would be damned before he let his awareness turn to introspection. And he would just as soon fall on his own knife rather than face the actions he had taken in the past. It was just too bloody painful. So instead his gaze drifted outwards, to lay blame elsewhere for the uncomfortable place he was in this moment. Hopefully, he looked into his mug. But it was petchin’ empty and there was no sign of the barmaid. Damnable whore! Blinking, thoughts of the farm surfaced once more… The fields green with crops… then the blight bringing them low… Sick beds with the children… the struggle to keep food on the table… mama’s suicide… and Rose, always Rose at the center of all… and dirt and filth… and forsaking sweet Bala’s earth… Keating jerked his head up, when he realized he had been staring at the table, perhaps too long. His eyes lifted, and pain ringed them as Andry asked what was the matter… The matter…? Keating barked, “That I should have to remember any of it! That is the matter!” He blamed himself and Rose for much of what had happened, and his parents and the uncaring gods for the rest. He had tried to forget, through women and alcohol he had tried. A seething anger bubbled, hovered just below the surface. It was too painful to confront. Keating would not, but the terrible response to it had to go somewhere… so outwardly it went. The fingers of his left hand gripped the top circle of the mug, as if to smoother the empty vessel. “What kind of trade you in exactly, Professor? What is it that you do…?” When Andry didn’t answer fast enough to his liking, Keating lifted the empty mug, then slammed the bottom of it down on the table to get the man’s attention. “I asked you a question…”

[Hadrian]

His eyes went gloriously wide, which was unnerving to some, attractive to others. But he changed nothing. He was committed now. Keating's angry words were just that; he could not prove that Hadrian was the cause when he was high on violence and taking the edge off of that with alcohol. Fortunately, Andry was better at dealing with people than Hadrian was, even if they were one and the same person. Strange, that. His own body quivered with Fluxed djed now, which Keating could read as readiness to defend himself or whatever he wanted. Hopefully the man had no great desire to pound in the face of someone weaker than him, or apparently weaker. Cool as a cucumber, Hadrian stared him down. "I'll answer you, Keating, when you calm the petch down." He shook his head. "My father's a merchant." Truth. "He wants me to be part of the family business." Truth. "He's always looking for new opportunities." Truth. "I'm just looking into things here." Truth, but deceptive truth.

[Keating Ash]

Keating’s challenging gaze settled on Andry’s wide eyes for a heartbeat, then stayed longer. It was impossible to read their depth. “Hell…” he finally said and drug his palm over his weathered face, pulling the skin downward along his cheeks and stubbled chin. The battered knuckles were prominent in the movement. Andry could not have known the maelstrom of despair Keating’s soul contained, or the volatile memories within, when he had tapped into it. But the dam had been opened, and it was a slow process to bring it under rein again. The young man looked tensed, ready to react should Keating make a sudden move. But Andry’s voice was calm, just as his eyes… and Keating listened silently and watched. Gods! He thought, here was Andry not more than a skinny wisp of a man, holding it together better than a roughened dock worker! Bala! It was almost embarrassing, while he himself was overreacting like a damnable woman… The barmaid caught Keating’s eye and the man held up three fingers. The rage of memories still beat at him. And when the drinks came round Keating said, “Go on boy– drink. I’ll not hit ya’,” as he slid one over towards Andry, even though the merchant probably still had some left in the first. The muscles bunched in his forearm and the farmer willed his fingers not to shake. Tipping his mug, Keating downed the new drink in one desperate go. It was the usual method to deal with the unwanted tortures of his past. Already the alcohol began to soothe, a bit more and the pain would subside, and with it the need to fight. “Don’t think you’d a given me a proper fight anyway…” Keating mumbled, the tone changed, softened as he waited for the aggression to subside. “Wouldn’t be worth it…” Why he kept talking, he didn’t know, but somehow he continued. “Andry? Don’t you ever… just need to hit someone… to break something, just to let off a little steam? To feel calm again…” Keating looked the man in the eye, then away quickly. “Ahhh, petch it… I can’t explain.” How to explain that if the underlying rage from his miserable life didn’t come out somehow, he might just lose his mind… With difficulty, Keating tried to change the subject, but it was still there as it always was hovering, the farm…the earth… the tragedy… “So… you’ll follow your father’s footsteps. Cause it’s in your blood? Cause you couldn’t imagine doing anything else… that would make you content?” The rough man shook his head forlornly, and took another deep drink from his other mug, “Would you be lost without it? Like me…”

[Hadrian]

Hadrian was slower to relax for, as Keating said, he was the one who wouldn't put up much of a fight. At least, he wouldn't without the Flux. It was slower going Fluxing the unused djed back into his reserves. He could have just released it, but he was in Ravok and he wanted as much energy at his disposal as possible. But he concentrated on slowly cycling the energy from his muscles and nerves to that pool of collected, living energy. His own hand was shaking a little when he reached for his drink to drain it before starting on the new one, but this was a reaction to the coming and going of Fluxed energy. He pretended to look embarrassed. It was safer to appear powerless to a man such as Keating. If he knew that Hadrian had power, he would instantly become a rival, even if he had no intention to be one. He nodded tensely to Keating's first question, but the man had already looked away. Listening to the rest, he waited until the man began to crumple quietly in on himself before daring an answer. His hand went out, laid flat on the table next to Keating's. He didn't touch him, not wanting to recall the violence when all he wanted to do was support the vulnerability until it could be healed, at least as much as could be healed by one person who had never met him before. But it was as close to touching him as he dared. "Sometimes," he said very quietly, "I just want to take the good things in my life and set them on fire. I don't even know why, but I want to take the beauty and destroy it, like that will give me some kind of control, some kind of power when I feel powerless. I play at being a merchant for my father's sake, but I would not be happy in this life. This is his life, his dream. My own... I don't know. I find short term goals to make up for not having a long term goal. I think we're all lost, really. Ships at sea. Sometimes we make safe harbor, but a boat has to sail... Safe harbor is just a brief respite, and then you have to sail the sea again, mostly blind. That's life."

[Keating Ash]

Keating wasn’t sure why Andry’s hand shook... maybe he was nervous still, even after Keating’s assurance that he wouldn’t be violent. But the thinner man looked embarrassed, and the farmer, a proud man himself, didn’t press. He did what most men would do the world over… he pretended not to see it. For long minutes, the dark haired man stared at the hand next to his on the table, as if trying to discern the meaning of it so near. On some level he knew it was an offer of support, and Keating lifted his eyes slowly to Andry’s. When had the tables shifted? Never in his life could he admit to needing anything… except to Rose, but then around her, he was forever a weak-willed man. The hand remained steadfast in its stillness, and Keating did not move his own hand away from it. To move it might mean many things, and he didn’t want to ponder too hard upon any of them, precarious as his thoughts already were. He’d not had enough drink! Not yet... but before the night was complete, Keating knew he would, as always... As Andry spoke, Keating nodded at the man’s smooth hand. “I walked away… from the one good thing…, no two good things - in my life,” though it was questionable if Rose had ever been a positive factor in his miserable existence. “And I’ve regretted it every day… for over ten fucking years…” Ten, torturous years spent away from the farm… and searching for Rose. “There ain’t been nothing good since.” Of course there were women during that time, even Cassandra, but as physically satisfying as it was at times with the barmaid… she would never measure up to his sister. “Power is what makes a man,” if you ain’t got that… then it’s hard to find self respect. Don’t think it really matters where you get it from…” Keating felt disconnected, and he spoke as if from far away. The musings were the simple thoughts of a farming man, straight and to the point. Leaning in, Keating grasped Andry’s arm above the wrist, his worn fingers closing around it. There was power in the grip, though he tried to decrease the strength of it. A tremor ran along his forearm, as he tried to control his own shaking hand. In a conspiratory tone Keating said with whispered intensity, “I may be lost… but Andry, you’re worse off then me. I know where I’m supposed to be. Ain’t no doubt in my mind. But you – you don’t even know where you’re going to… and you’re living someone else’s dream, that ain’t life, safe harbor or not. Time to jump ship, man…”

[Hadrian]

Hadrian didn't attempt to pull his hand away, felt the sharp insight of the simple man slide between his ribs and puncture his heart. But instead of dying, he just felt the spread of lightness throughout him, the freedom of truth even if he was lying about the details of himself, even if self-awareness was a bitch. Unchained, though hand-cuffed by a scuffed, callused hand, he felt his insides twist. His mouth too twisted, but into a strange sort of smile, halfway sardonic but revealing tiny windows into his soul. "Then pray to Bala, my friend," he said, "that I find my way and mature. And in the meantime remember that there's someone else worse off than you are."

[Keating Ash]

Watching the truth settle in over his companion, Keating shook his head slowly, his own gaze direct, penetrating. Andry still did not get it, “You don’t need Bala’s help... and you ain’t in need of hand holding - hell that’s probably what got ya here in the first place…” With embarrassment, Keating realized he still held a grip on Andry’s wrist and his fingers quickly lifted away, to unravel from the young man’s skin. “Listen. I’m not the kind to dance about and blow smoke up your arse,” Keating stated as if there might be any doubt as to kind of man he might be. “Ask for what you need, or take what you want… it’s as simple as that.” The words might have sounded harsh, but to the farmer he thought he offered the young man some much needed common sense. And if he hadn’t liked the man, he wouldn’t have bothered even with that. It was a high compliment that he did so. “Yeah… that is a consolation,” Keating laughed, it was a quick sound and true. He leaned back into the hard chair with practiced ease; comfortable furniture and opulent surroundings were for other folks. This was what he was, a hard man on an equally stubborn chair. This was all he knew… “I’ll have to remember that.”

[Hadrian]

Hadrian smiled a fatalistic smile as his arm was released. He didn't rub the skin, though the grip had been tight. Some of the details he offered were not quite right, but the spirit of his story was true, which made it all the easier for people to swallow and for Hadrian to live. His goals in life were vague, but slowly focusing. "Perhaps someday we'll meet again, and we'll see where we both stand." Upon the word, he began to rise from his chair as well. "I should go. Do you think you can make it home without an escort, or do you need me to walk you?" The tone was slightly mocking, but his grin was friendly enough to dispel any ill will the words themselves might inspire. He and Keating had shared something, even if he had cheated a little to coax it out of the man. Hopefully, he had done the man a service, even if nothing came of it for him.