[Flashback] With a Whimper (Hadrian)

[Alistair deGrey]

What do we see? Do we see clearly? Or darkly? When vengeance makes of us blind men, do we truly lose sight, or is the world finally swaddled in clarity? The plan. What was the plan? Alistair blinked a few times, allowing his head to fall at a peculiar angle. His eyes narrowed as thought rearranged itself into something resembling calculation. The man spoke, licking his dried lips to facilitate speech, "I believe..." Rather quickly for somebody who looked as if he was about to collapse, Alistair dashed back up the stairs to his quarters. Shadow was temporarily forgotten as the juggernaut lurched into motion again. Bloody footsteps marred the stairway, and left wet footprints along the hallway. In his quarters, Alistair tore open the desk drawers, pulling from it a bag of Mizas. He poured them out on the desk, the clangor seemed immense in the otherwise silent room. Ten, fifteen, twenty, twenty seven, thirty one. The bag had dried up at thirty one Mizas. Hurriedly scooping them back into the purse, Alistair began running through lists of proprietorships. He knew exactly who to go to. Alistair returned as quickly as he had left, tossing the purse of coins to Shadow. His voice was dry, "We need to go to Verdanzo, he makes alchemist's fire, and is probably drunk right now." Alistair had stopped by Verdanzo's shop a few times, and he had always smelled alcohol there. He was sure that the man wouldn't pass up this opportunity to consume copious amounts of alcohol. Although, whether he would be doing so in his shop, or at a gala, was unknown to Alistair. All relevance lay with the fact that this man had fire, the artist of endings. deGrey looked down at his shirt, "You will need to make the purchase." Without another word, he set off

[Hadrian]

For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known. -- 1 Corinthians 13:12 The man was not improving with time, not making sense. When he disappeared upstairs, it was a combination of shock and an attempt to make sense of everything that kept Hadrian rooted where he stood rather than doing the wise thing and leaving calmly and quietly so as not to arouse any suspicion against himself. Had this man killed the girl and blamed it on some figment of a sick, twisted imagination? Had he truly lost her to some nefarious other who's name... Sedani? Cedany? ...who might strike again? He frowned. "I'm not running around with you at night dressed in bloody clothes. Go upstairs and clean yourself off. Change. I'll wait for you at the corner." Hefting the bag of coins in his hand, he held it out so the psychopath would know he had no designs on his money. If he wrote to his father and promised to take another course on macroeconomics, he could secure more than this bag would hold. Blood money of a different sort, perhaps. "Seriously," he said with quiet urgency, "if you don't clean yourself up, the first person who sees us will start screaming bloody murder..." No pun intended. "I don't want to go to the Council's dungeons. Do you?" It seemed a pointed question to Hadrian, but perhaps not so much so to a possible murderer.

[Alistair deGrey]

The intrusion of sanity upon those only temporarily lost is inevitable. Try as we might, the world pokes holes in our defenses, and reason creeps back into sight.

A curt nod and an irritated glance accompanied Alistair's second departure. This man did not understand what it meant to burn. He had never felt the flames grab at his legs like rabid dogs, pulling him down into some vortex where light was only dimly present. But, he had made a point. Alistair stopped his progress, turned around and ran back up the stairs, his wire frame flinging itself up multiple stairs at a time.

In his room, he stripped out of his bloody clothes, dropping them on the ground where he stood. Scars from a history not so far removed as Alistair might wish to believe were keenly felt on this night. This was a second strike. Not the first, but yet another imposition of an unwanted will upon Alistair. He was not going lie down and die as a meek cur. He splashed water over his face and hair, scrubbing off most of the blood. A rose hue discolored the small basin as deGrey washed the red from his body. Though the blood was rinsed away, Alistair could still feel every spot it had covered, as if his lover's blood had soaked through his skin and into the material of his soul.

Still wet, deGrey slipped his other set of breeches and tunic on, and quickly rinsed off his belt. He manically shook his hair out, tucking it behind his ears so he might see. Picking up the blood splattered clothing, Alistair left his apartment.

The night's air was frigid, and goosebumps prickled at Alistair's wet skin as he moved down the stairs toward Shadow. The man awaited his return with the purse of gold held out, and Alistair nodded an affirmation to him. To what, exactly, the student was unsure of. deGrey's voice cracked like dry earth, "We must be off." Leaving the bag of Mizas in Shadow's hand, Alistair departed at a jog.

Dark streets and deserted alleyways ran through the city of Zeltiva. Every now and again windows would be filled with the warm glow of a heart, but for the most part the old sector was deserted. The pair of shadows moved through the streets, mice slinking from one darkness to the next. As they quickly made their way to Alistair's planned destination, the older buildings fell away, replaced by newer structures created after the Valterrian.

Several blocks into the new sector, Alistair turned off a side street and down a large alleyway. Not a soul stirred in between the buildings, and little moonlight filtered through the clouds to illuminate the cobblestone. Tugging Shadow down the street, Alistair made one more turn. Plastered next to a worn wooden door was a dilapidated sign that read, "Verdanzo". Alistair turned to Shadow, "We have arrived."

[Hadrian]

Hadrian had been as good as his word, waiting at the crossroads for the psychopath. He had almost believed that the man wouldn't come, but he had not yet made the decision to leave when the man found him, tossing a bag of money at him like some... well, an expensive whore if the weight of the bag was any indicator. Then they traveled like thieves in the night until they came to the shop of an alchemist he had never heard of before. 'Verdanzo', he read. Well, excellent. When the psychopath spoke, he turned to look, still seeing that manic, maniacal gleam in his eyes and hoped he wasn't about to get in too deep. "Have we?" he asked rhetorically, waiting to see what crazy would ensue from here on out.

[Alistair deGrey]

Verdanzo, the keeper of secrets and brewer of surreptition. A meeting with this man is one with the other side.

Creaks and groans escaped the door's frame as Alistair turned the knob and pushed. The room they entered was dark, only a sliver of light slipping in from behind a curtain; although the gleam of glass bottles provided a small accompanient of stars. From behind the curtain a glass bottle broke, and a deep, male moan sounded.

Alistair put a finger to his lips, motioning for quiet. His eyes were wide and white in the dark, informing Shadow quite blatantly that he was still not quite alright. He motioned his companion toward the curtain with the Mizas, while Alistair crouched and began to slink behind the counter. He crouched in front of shelves, squinting to make out the labels in the dim light. This small shelf was all of Verdanzo's stock, and Alistair knew the combustible substance had to be here somewhere. He would have simply lifted the shelf and left, but Alistair was not sure if Verdanzo would hear him. Shadow and his diversion was his only chance at that method.

From behind the curtain, slurred pleas to some unknown deity could be heard. Verdanzo was begging forgiveness for spilling his alcohol, though it was difficult to decipher his words.

Alistair waited, squinting at labels.

[Hadrian]

APOTHECARY My poverty, but not my will, consents. ROMEO I pay thy poverty, and not thy will. -- Romeo and Juliet, Act V, Scene 1 by William Shakespeare Nothing about this night was going well at all, he thought. He should not have walked his classmate home. He should not have stuck around to keep an eye out on this psychopath. For the love of Eyris, he didn't even know his name! He was likely the one who had dismembered the girl, and Hadrian would likely end up in the dungeons as some sort of an accomplice. He cleared his throat, approaching the curtain but keeping a safe bit of distance still. The bag of coin he hefted in his hand so the faint jingle of coins would alert the sot that he had customers rather than burglars with which to deal at this late hour. "Ah, Master Verdanzo? I'm sorry. Your door was open. Might I make a purchase? I will be out of your way soon enough."

[Alistair deGrey]

The man named Verdanzo was big, taller than Shadow and definitely fatter. His blustery red cheeks puffed as he bent to pick up the broken shards of glass, and Shadow was presented with a copious view of his exposed backside. He started and stood as the customer spoke, turning and staring blankly at Hadrian for a second. It was, in fact, a small wonder this man made philters. He was far large than one would think for a potion maker, and the blank expression did not hint at intelligence. Horrible burn scars marred his chubby face and arms. He sat back on his bed, and something finally clicked in his addled brain. "Ahhhhhsh," his voice was a deep baritone, "Inow... Eksssakly whatshu need." His head tilted forward limply and his hand pointed at Hadrian as he uttered that last phrase.

A big grin split his face, "S'coursh I know, i onee make one thing." He held up a solitary finger for Shadow to see. Well that explained his career, practice makes perfect even for a dolt. A particularly violent hiccup rocked him, and he spoke again, "Alchameshes Fahr."

In the other room, Shadow heard the light clinking sound of glass bottles banging against each other. A small scuffle as wood scraped against the floor followed it. Then he heard footsteps, his companion was leaving.

[Hadrian]

"Actually," he temporized, "I think I left my burner on... I'll go home and check that, then come back in the morning to see about your Alchemist's Fire. Which, I'm sure is lovely and explosive and all..." He started backing out, sure as shyke not going to be left here by the psychopath he was babysitting. Not with a drunken alchemist with creepy deformations. "You'd best lock up behind me, though. There's no telling who might walk in on you while you're sleeping if you don't lock the door. You take care now..." Hadrian began to flee in earnest. He was not made for a larcenous lifestyle, though he did make sure to drive thought of the extra gold in his pocket from his mind. The better to keep it. Enchanting could get expensive!

[Liminal]

"Th' Fahr'll makesh it sho ya don' need yer burnersh," Verdanzo called out after the departing Hadrian. But by that point, the enchanter was halfway down the block, and there was certainly no way Verdanzo was going to catch him, not in the drunk man's current condition.

What he did do was bolt the door behind him, as Hadrian had suggested. He was in no condition to do more than this, and quickly sank to the floor. The wall supported his back so that he didn't fall to the floor, but he gave the impression that this was the limit of his powers at this particular moment.

[Alistair deGrey]

The sound of his footsteps echoed off the side street's stone walls as Alistair careened down its length with the rattling cabinet. Despite his throbbing heart, panic did not race through his veins. Alistair stopped just before the side street emptied out into the larger one they had traversed earlier, and pressed himself and his charge against the shadowy brick wall. A wide grin broke out across his face as the bottle's of alchemist's fire combusted in his mind. Soon enough the flames hungrily eating up the night air would be all too real. deGrey seized up his fantasy for a moment to peer about the main street he would soon enter, eyeing the shadowy alleys and windows.

More footsteps and their accompanying echoes caused Alistair to turn. They sounded light, not heavy as Verdanzo's would be. Still though, his gaze was frozen to the corner the footsteps' owner would come around, hoping the figure was tall and lanky. Fortunately for the waiting man, Shadow came dashing around the corner, which was a far more pleasant sight than a potentially murderous philterer. As his companion entered the side street, deGrey stepped out from the wall to greet him.

An inferno blazed in Alistair's eyes as he spoke to Shadow, "We have fire." He began rattling various bottles, picking up any that weren't empty. In all he poached five bottles of orange viscous liquid, handing two to Shadow. deGrey unceremoniously dropped the cabinet with the useless bottles, making a loud clatter about the area. A lantern in a nearby home unshuttered, throwing light through the closed glass window. The grin stretching across Alistair's face vanished, and he took off in the direction of Cedany's house.