Season of Spring, Day 20, 508 AV
It wasn't fair!
Jorin kicked a rock, and frowned angrily when it veered wildy off-course and struck a wall. It just didn't make any sense. Why couldn't his father see that the troupe would be a good choice for him? He didn't want to become a mathematician! Memories of his father's stinging words still rang in his ears.
"You have no idea what you're doing, Jorin!" his father had insisted. Jorin would have felt better if his father had yelled at him, but no. The man did not yell. He did not scream nor shout. It was always the same with Rosik Ertihan. Always the impeccable, inexorable march of his infuriating logic!
"You never let me do what I want! Why do I have to do these stupid problems every day?!" he'd shouted back. Jorin's father had merely peered at him, his intimidating gaze finally browbeating Jorin into lowering his head.
"There is no logic to your argument, Jorin. You have displayed no talent for acting, and your talent in art is yet undeveloped. Traveling with this troupe is both foolhardy and dangerous, and I forbid you to do it." Jorin's mouth opened to protest, but his father's hard glare kept him back.
"ENOUGH! This discussion is over!" And it was. Jorin had not dared to open his mouth after that.
And so he wandered about the docks of Zeltiva, kicking random stones for getting in his way, his head full of angry thoughts. He'd go, Jorin decided. He'd get out of here if it was the last thing he ever did! He'd show him ...
In his anger, Jorin hadn't noticed the large man until he'd collided with him. Of course, being much smaller, it was Jorin who got the worst of it.
"Oof!" Jorin cried, as he landed butt-first on the ground. Petch it all didn't anyone watch where they were going anymore?!
"Hey, what's the big idea?!" he exclaimed at the man, sounding just the tiniest bit whiny.