[Uni: Student Housing] The Go Getter [Astrolabe]

[Jaron Grunn]

Zeltiva. A very interesting city that I loved the second I saw it; though ... there was no food, a weird beer, and a lot of sailors. I heard stories about what happened in this city and how they were pretty strong with their navy but never thought I'd experience first hand. The air here smells fresh, smells good.There's oddly no restaurants in this place but I'm told that this is due to the constant lack of food in this place (at least that's what someone told me as I asked for them in the streets) and the tavern's just had that weird beer and some odd snacks here and there. If I would have known about this -- uh -- unique food situation in Zeltiva, I would have come prepared... - Sev's journal, 22 Spring 500 23 Fall, 511 There wasn't much to the city that blew Jaron's mind away, at least anything that he didn't already read about in Sev's journal. He read the passages about Zeltiva over and over again until he could commit every single word to memory. There wasn't going to be much that would surprise him here, thought he hoped that his search for Astrolabe would at least prove somewhat interesting, and hopefully his childhood friend would have some interesting stories to tell him about this place. Jaron smirked to himself as he thought about the should-be mage and how he more preferred physical combat than slinging around shiny sparks from his finger tips. It had been a few years since he last saw Astrolabe, a man that had to go by the name of Abe in order to keep his appreciation of wrestling a secret his mage-only family. He was an oddity within his family and from what Jaron remember he was sent to this university with the hopes of somehow coaxing out whatever sort of magic lay dormant in his soul. From what Jaron had seen of the man there wasn't any need for him to learn how to weird that stuff around, he was a killer on the wrestling mat. Jaron was glad that it was a sport that he never quite grasped, and was also very glad that Abelard never quite got the hang of unarmed, man-on-man combat. The few times that they tried to spar didn't work out so well as each man had tried their own unique approach to the situation, and it usually ended with Jaron on the ground, pinned under the much heavier and grappling-professional of Abe's arms and body. Each man excelled at something different and that didn't stop them from being drinking buddies down in Lhavit. Abe had even lent his muscle to Jaron's farm on occasion to help out with harvest and other chores that he managed to do, despite Jaron's persistence that he had everything under control. Jaron was proud in that regard, proud that he could take care of the family farm when his parents had went into the city for a few days. It was difficult for him to acknowledge the need for help, and he was always silently grateful for the pushy persistence of Abe's help. The place that Jaron was directed to wasn't exactly what he thought, nor was it what Sev had written about in his journal - student housing. He knew that Abe's family was pretty well off so he wasn't slumming it like a budget student at the university. In the last letter that he sent to Abe, letting him know of his estimated arrival, he wasn't specific about where he would meet the man. Would he even recognize him after so many years away? Jaron would like to think that he was more of less the man that he was back when he and Abe had their last very, very drunk night together at a tavern in Lhavit, but in reality he looked more dogged and old than his age truly was. His eyes seemed darker than before, dark bags under them from uneasy sleep. Jaron had never been overweight before, but he seemed thinner as the flesh around his veins and muscles seemed like it was sucked down tight against his body. Jaron sat himself down in what he assumed was the lobby area of this student housing and hoped that he would be able to catch sight of Abe before he caught sight of Jaron; he had a feeling that the wrestling aficionado would try and tackle him down the second he spotted Jaron's attention focused elsewhere...

[Astrolabe]

Well . . . the day hadn’t been a total loss. Close to it – that potion in his philtering class hadn’t come anywhere close to what it should have been. Pouring it down the sink hadn’t been the best move – was he supposed to know that sodium exploded upon contact with water? His missing eyebrow and the rather deep black smudge where it had been singed off gave him a rather dashing look – or so Astro thought as he had glanced quickly in the tiny looking glass on his way out the door of his tiny room. Kind of piratey – or mysteriously sinister – something like that. In any event, having the professor boot him out the door before class was even half way over – with the expostulation that he need not return – was something of a mixed blessing. He’d already been tossed out of philtering twice before – never quite so early in the term, admittedly. So the third time around he was not quite so bothered as the first time – when he had thought his parents would actually blow a gasket when they found out. The second time around, he had decided what they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them, and it had worked, so far. Maybe they assumed he was just waiting to take the advanced class until he had passed some of the more basic ones. In any event, he felt comforted that they need not know about this failed attempt either, and so he could go on to the docks that much earlier, and have a go at that new alloy Remiken had told him about. Funny how he was so clueless when it came to magic but that metalsmithing came so much more easily to him. The basic philtering skills that he possessed stood him in good stead working with the different alloys. Who needed all the fancy healing and cursing potions? So, having changed out of his cumbersome academic robes, and sporting trousers and a shirt much stained and grubby with various and assorted concoctions, dirt, grime, sweat and even tiny holes from the acids he sometimes used, he galloped down the stairs of the short, squat tower of rooms and into the common area, which gave onto the narrow street. With an absent minded smile for the ancient porter, who nodded half-asleep behind the wooden desk, he strode towards the door. Throwing a cursory glance at the stranger who occupied part of one of the benches set perpendicular to the huge fireplace, Astro shoved on the heavy oak door. He had one boot on the top step of the granite staircase, when he paused in his forward motion, almost causing himself to tumble down them head first. Catching his balance at the last moment, he spun on his heels and leapt to yank open the closing door, thrusting himself through it even as his hand was still on the handle. The resultant collision, with the man who had risen from the bench to follow him, was nothing short of spectacular. Foreheads klunked together, and they both teetered, reaching for one another as well as the door and door frame, trying to stay upright. Astrolabe’s larger bulk and greater velocity won out, though, and they both crashed back into the room, the man’s arms turning a bit like the sails of a windmill, Astro dragging on the guy’s shirt hoping to keep him from completely smashing the back of his head on the hard wooden floor. He was partially successful. They ended up in a tangled heap right inside the doorway, Astro mostly on top, the other almost spread eagle below him. The old porter snorted in his sleep, opened bleary eyes, looked at the two, and said only, “Now, now Master Astrolabe.” Feeling this was a sufficient remonstrance, the old gentleman went peacefully back to sleep. Astro shoved himself up on one hand, the other resting comfortably on his victim’s chest, as he looked down at that scruffy face with a huge grin. “Jaron! What the hell! Where did you pop up from?”

[Jaron Grunn]

Jaron wasn't exactly sure what happened, he wasn't sure just how exactly how he ended up on the floor under Astro but there he was. He liked to think that his reflexes and sight were top notch, that he could see things before they happened and act accordingly in anticipation of something coming towards him. But with Astrolabe and the way that they "met" threw Jaron off his game. Was there grief still clouding his eyes and his judgement? He hadn't had a moment in which he had to truly test his abilities after what happened in the spring; Jaron assumed that he was still in fine mental form. Perhaps the grief was interfering with his ability to do his job? He didn't have time to think about that at the moment so he compartmentalized that thought for later reflection. "Looks like I popped out of nowhere right up in your face, doesn't it? Though I'm sure you're glad you were finally able to pin me down though I demand a rematch." Jaron said with a grunt as he looked up to Astro who was more than comfortable laying on the ground beside Jaron with that big grin on his face that he hadn't seen in years. He shoved at Astro's shoulders to push the bigger man off his body and got up to his feet, adjusting the shirt and jacket over his body so it didn't look like he just ran into a man and fell to the ground. "I hope I'm not early or anything, I wasn't sure when I'd make it to Zeltiva but ... here I am?" He said with a little shrug, his palms raising up as he tried to look as innocent as possible. "Being back in classes doesn't mean that your invitation has been taken back, does it?" Jaron watched as Astrolabe got himself back up to his feet with a shit-eating on his face again, one that didn't seem to disappear after that little incident. It had been years since either man had seen each other and in that amount of time a great deal had happened on both sides. Both men were older, a little bit wiser, and definitely in the prime of their life. Astrolabe appeared to have grown into his love of wrestling, and whatever he did outside of the classroom reflected in the tan and the dirty hands at the end of two big arms. Jaron smirked as he looked back up to Astrolabe and just shook his head. Was that an eyebrow missing from his face? "Let me guess - instead of opening a book like a mage, you blew it up and took off your eyebrow. I'm surprised you're still intact, buddy. Remind me to never ask you for a demonstration of what you've learned here."

[Astrolabe]

Astrolabe laughed heartily, as Jaron shoved him off and rose to his feet. “I’m up for a round or two, any time. I seem to recall that you were never too hard to beat.” He jumped up himself, not bothering to dust himself off or straighten his rumpled clothes. There wasn’t much there that could be improved with such futile gestures. Smiling, he shook his head affably. “No - you’re not early – or late. I just had no idea exactly when you’d get here. I guess my mind was off . . . somewhere.” To say Astrolabe was a bit of an air-head was the understatement of the century. And anyone who knew him, such as Jaron did, was well aware of his tendency to walk around with his head in the clouds. “And you know you’re welcome here, Jaron.” He said warmly. “I’ve only been waiting for what – four years – for you to get here?” Asreolabe ducked his head immediately after saying that. He knew that, in some ways, Sev’s death was the reason Jaron had finally made this journey. He didn’t want to make it sound like he was pissed that his friend hadn’t made the incredibly long and hazardous journey before that. His finger’s went to his eyebrow – or, more precisely, where his eyebrow had been – and he grinned sheepishly. “Yeah, it’s probably a good thing that you got here when you did. Next week you might have only . . . “ Damn. He had been about to say Next week you might have only been coming to visit me in the cemetery. This whole thing with Sev dying was going to be tricky. Astrolabe was already mentally kicking himself for what he knew would be many awkward moments – created by himself, no doubt. “Well, god knows what condition you might have found me in – turned into a lizard, or a toad maybe.” His knew it sounded lame, but he didn’t know how to make it sound any better. Instead, Astro resorted to that which he knew he could do best. Stepping closer, he wrapped Jaron in a huge bear hug, pulling him tight. Clapping his big hand on his friend’s shoulder, he said in a lower voice, “I’m glad you’re here, Jaron. Really, really glad. I’ve missed you. And . . . and – I’m sorry.” The words hung there for a moment, but Astro knew Jaron would know what he meant. He pulled back a tiny bit, enough to look at Jaron. “Let’s go get drunk, yeah?”

[Jaron Grunn]

Jaron smiled as he listened to Astro talk, the man had a certain way to just talk and talk and then pause as he reflected on something completely different. He wasn't sure exactly what was going on in that head of his but knew that there was something always going on between his ears. It was a familiar face, sound and vibe to be around and that was comforting to Jaron who had not seen someone familiar all summer since he left Lhavit. It had been even longer since he saw this man in front of him, a man in which he had spent many drunken nights on the floor of his place in the city. The things that they would get into were nothing out of the ordinary for two young, drunk men in the city that thought they were invincible. When Astro went to Zeltiva to get educated it was a hard time for Jaron to adjust where he didn't have his childhood buddy around anymore. Jaron had other friends in the city and out in the fields but it wasn't the same as Astrolabe, the mage that wasn't meant to be. Even the recollection of memory of some little "experiments" of Astrolabe where he tried to reproduce the simplest of exercises resulted in some form of an explosion in which the two young men had to haul butt to get away from being caught. Unfortunately the singe marks on Astro's face would give that away, as Jaron always managed to have that knack for knowing when to back up and get away from whatever Astrolabe had concocted. It provided Jaron's mind with solace knowing that nothing in these past four years seems to have really changed for Astrolabe, other than the fact he looked more at ease in the sun or on the wrestling mat than in the library. He smiled over to him again as Astrolabe got himself back up on his two feet and was now ready to head out, or try and tackle him down again as he went towards a door... "Well I'm here now and glad for your hospitality, or so I hope... And if I ever find your as a lizard or toad, I'll be sure to give you a nice little enclosure that you can run around in and eat bugs all day. Promi--" Jaron's words were cut off as those big arms wrapped around his body. Adding to all the comforting thoughts and feelings that Jaron was experiencing around his old friend, this was the icing on the cake. In those few seconds of initial physical contact between Astrolabe and Jaron, he felt like he was about to melt into a puddle. Not that he would break down and start crying, but it was just a sensation that he had distanced himself from for so long that it was ... nice to be hugged again. After those initial seconds of no return of a squeeze, Jaron's arms clapped around Astro's body and held him tight, squeezing him back with equal force. When he heard those words from Astro's lips, those soft and deep words, Jaron knew that it was inevitable that the history would be acknowledge; the last few letters that Jaron had sent Astro were terse and to the point. There wasn't the usual gushing of what was happening in his life after what happened in the spring. There was nothing that Jaron felt in his mind that he felt that Astrolabe would appreciate hearing. Why would he unload all those feelings to his friend that was having the time of his life in Zeltiva? It didn't seem fair to Jaron so he kept his words few and his letters short. The scent of Astrolabe was one that Jaron had missed, too, but one that he wouldn't acknowledge verbally; the only sign of acknowledgement was when he pressed his head against the broad shoulder and took in a deep breath of that scent. That scent that couldn't be anything but that of a man, and a man that may or may not have washed his clothes in a few days. What Astrolabe had one was a far cry from the robes that were required in the university and especially of that of a mage, and Jaron was certain that those clothes would smell like nothing more than smoke, flowers and old books. "Thank you," Jaron said automatically, the response that he had given so many times before. It just came out without a second thought, the response that you gave when someone acknowledge the grief. He wanted to say more, to try and reestablish that I-Want-To-Tell-You-Everything relationship they had. Jaron wanted to make sure that the man that gave him a huge, enveloping hug was still the man that he grew up with not someone who had changed drastically in those four years. "Yes, drunk." Jaron said with a nod of a his head in acknowledgement and gave Astrolabe's back a firm pat, signalling the end of their hug. He smiled over to him as he gave a push to his shoulder as he got a better look at Astro's clothes. "You're going out like that? If I would have known Zeltiva was so casual, I wouldn't have washed my clothes for this occasion and saved myself the coin..."

[Astrolabe]

Jaron’s rather curt, extremely automatic response bothered Astrolabe, in so far as he knew that this friend of his growing up years must be so tired of having to think about what had happened. When Astro had received that first letter – informing him in such flat, bald terms that Sev had died – he had known right away how devastated Jaron would be. Astrolabe had never met Sev in person, but he felt like he knew the guy – almost intimately – from Jaron’s frequent letters. Year by year, while he had been here in Zeltiva, Astrolabe had easily seen how Sev had become the center of Jaron’s existence. It had apparently been a match made by Cheva herself. Astrolabe had even wondered if the two had been marked by the goddess, though if so, Jaron had never mentioned it. To lose someone like that . . . Astrolabe couldn’t even begin to imagine how hard that would be. But he knew how people were, when a loved one died. All the empty platitudes, all the meaningless words – even the ones that were heartfelt only reopened the wound again and again and again. His own letters back to Jaron had been awkward. Astrolabe was no word smith – in writing or in person. So he had kept his condolences short and simple and then let it go, not knowing what else to say – knowing, actually, that there really was nothing to say. Except what he had just said – I’m sorry. How many times must Jaron have been called upon to make some suitable response, to acknowledge the acknowledgement, to act like the words somehow helped? Jaron broke off the hug first, his body stiff with whatever was swirling around inside of him. Astrolabe let him go, and forced a chuckle over the comment about his clothes. “After that hug and getting a good whiff of you, I’d have sworn you hadn’t washed them since you left Lhavit.” He teased because he always teased and Jaron would expect it and because he didn’t know how else to act, though it seemed wrong to try to be funny when things were so blessedly messed up. “Come on then – I’ll introduce you to kelp beer. I know you’ll love it.” That of course was yet another little joke – but one Jaron might not get – yet. Soon enough though, the two were ensconced in a small low ceilinged room that served as a bar of sorts. It was only around the corner from Astro’s digs, and wasn’t really a tavern. It was a place students came to eat, for cheap, and as it was the middle of the afternoon, when most students were still hard at work in lectures or studying or labs, it was quite deserted. In fact, the fat, slightly greasy, middle aged woman who served as proprietor gave Astrolabe a suspicious glance when he entered. But when she shuffled over to take their order, she merely shot him a baleful expression, grunted, and shuffled back off again, behind the doors into the miniscule kitchen. Jaron was speaking in a low voice to Astro about some part of his journey, when the woman reappeared with a pitcher and two tankards. As she left once more, Astro poured Jaron a glass and then one for himself. “Zeltiva is famous for this stuff.” He said, trying to keep a straight face. “Drink up.” He raised his own tankard in a toast. “To life and love.” Realizing what he had just said, Astro’s arm stopped with his glass halfway to his mouth, which now hung open a bit. “I – um – I mean . . . well, I didn’t mean to say . . . “ His eyes were both alarmed and apologetic. “I – I . . . cheers!” He said, his voice trailing off, and he took a huge swallow of the vile tasting beverage without having meant to.

[Jaron Grunn]

Jaron shoved back as a reply to the way he smelled; it was the reality of being on the road for so long and away from any place that had an adequate place to wash all of his clothes. Thus, his jacket smelled rather "rustic" as it had been draped over his shoulders most of the summer, protecting him from the elements and from the various creatures that would have had a bite of his meat in their jaws. He smiled again back to Astrolabe at that familiar sparring which usually resulted in Jaron punching or shoving Astrolabe back with every verbal quib that was directed towards him. While Astro was good with words, or at least good at saying a lot of words, Jaron wasn't so smooth and was much better at physical retaliation. Astrolabe was no pushover in that regard, either, as he was able to take everything that Jaron threw at him and even managed to one-up the man by pinning him to the ground. Jaron never admitted to those times ever happening, however, as he preferred to think that he would never let another man pin him to the ground as helplessly as Astrolabe could grapple, twist, and pin Jaron down before he had time to blink. "Sev made a comment about kelp beer and food in his journal," Jaron said casually, his eyes on the table that was between the two men. He could see the jagged marks of initials and profanities that were inscribed on the table. His fingers ran over the rough marks that had been painted over, but that only made them more visible to Jaron's eyes and the tips of his fingers. "Though I'm surprised they're giving us food here. I thought there were food shortages or something, but I guess this place is different since it's connected to the school?" Jaron let his hand go limp on the table as he looked back to Astrolabe who was lost in thought, once more. Jaron bet he could insult Astrolabe in every which way until his face went blue and, when Astrolabe was in this state of mind, he wouldn't have heard a damn thing. Before he could ask what was on the young man's mind, the woman came back and dropped off a pitcher and two clean looking tankards. At the "slip up" of what Astrolabe said, Jaron looked away from the man as he put the glass down back on the table as Astro seemed to think that the interesting looking beer was able to turn back time and erase what he had just said. Jaron looked back up to him as he settled the glass back on the table and he gave a little smirk as he noticed the reddening of Astrolabe's cheeks and the way he seemed to be sitting very awkward in the silence that hung in the hair. Jaron reached out for Astrolabe's hand across the table and held it in his own, gripping it tight as he gave him a soft smile. "It's okay, don't worry about that stuff," Jaron said and gave the hand one final squeeze before pulling back. "If anyone in the world doesn't have to worry about what I think about them, it's you. So just relax and don't worry about that stuff, okay? Just..." Jaron sighed softly as he looked down to the contents of his tankard. Was the liquid in there actually green? He gave his head a shake as he looked back over to Astrolabe and crossed his legs under the bench that he was seated on. "I know I haven't told you anything about what happened, it was just hard to talk about it over and over again. By the time I had any time to myself, I didn't want to sit down and write it all out for you. So I guess you got the short end of that stick and I'm sorry. But I'm here, so I guess I can talk about it with you." Jaron gulped anxiously as he placed his hand around his tankard but left it on the table, the kelp beer inside completely untouched by his tongue. "It was an ambush, as it always is. And we managed to take most of them down, but at the very end when I wasn't there, Sev had someone on him that he couldn't shake. And seconds before Sev slit his throat, the man slit his stomach open." Jaron paused and pressed his lips together. He could almost feel the warmth of Sev's arms around his body, one arm tight around his chest while the other hung lose around his stomach. Jaron gulped again as he glanced back to Astrolabe with a forced smile. "That's pretty much it," Except the part about seeing Sev's ghost moments after he was buried, but Jaron wasn't prepared to tell Astrolabe that yet. Was this just the start, Jaron thought, of the secrets that he would be keeping from his best friend in all the world? Maybe another time, maybe after another round of this greenish beer. Jaron looked down to the contents of the tankard and brought it to his lips and took a sip of the liquid, a very cautious sip as he looked back to Astrolabe as his brow furrowed and his face contorted into a look of disgust.

[Astrolabe]

Astrolabe’s eyes focused on that scarred, rough hand as it settled on top of his own. The grip was reassuring in a way words could hardly hope to be. Jaron’s simple version of what had transpired – a stripped down to the bones version of what had so obviously torn his world apart – was told in a steady but slightly strained voice. The hand on Astro’s didn’t tremble, and Jaron’s eyes did not mist up. It was only the set of his friend’s lips that gave away how much it cost him to relate even such a stark tale. If they had not been friends for years, even that much would not have been noticeable. As it was, before Jaron had actually sought distraction in taking a swig of the beer, Astrolabe turned his hand palm upwards under Jarons’, returning the firm grasp of fingers in fingers. That touch put him in mind of others. Memories from the past slid into focus – all those times when he had been discouraged, or exultant, pissed or pensive. That hand – a bit less scarred back then – or its mate, would come to rest, gently or firmly, on his bicep, on his shoulder, on his back. A pat of encouragement, a swat of irritation, a good humored shove or a congratulatory hug – in all those years Jaron had always been there, supporting him without making any real show of it. And Astro had tried his best to reciprocate, though Jaron’s life had always seemed more even keeled, more balanced, less dramatic. Jaron himself had been so solid, so together and level headed. And here he was, like a rock in the midst of a tempest. Immovable. Unemotional. Bleak. Astrolabe suspected that rock now hid many secret fissures. It was unsettling to think of when, not if, Jaron might crack. If not in a way that allowed for him to grieve, then in a darker, more poisonous way. But Jaron was not one to break down and cry every other minute. Hell – Astro had hardly ever even seen him get upset. So . . . there it was, for better or worse. Wishing he could comfort his friend, believing that he could not, Astro gave a half-hearted attempt at a smirk as Jaron took a swig of beer and then grimaced. “Good, huh?” He paused, searching for words. All he could think of was what Jaron had just now said – that he could say what he thought and Jaron would be OK with it. Not exactly believing that fully, Astro tested the waters. “So, what did Sev have to say about it? The beer?” He pointed at Jaron’s glass. “My personal opinion – tastes like distilled piss. I’ve actually drank some of that before, you know?” As best he could, he watched to see how deliberately bringing up Jaron’s dead lover would go over.

[Jaron Grunn]

That squeeze Jaron felt back against his hand sent a shiver down his spine, a shiver he managed to hide (just barely) from being fully visible to Astrolabe's eyes. It was almost electric the way it felt to have a man that he dearly cared about also return that care in an unspoken way. The gesture of flipping his hand over and holding Jaron's rough hand made him smile for a moment and a pang of hurt tightened his chest for a moment as he had wished Astrolabe was there for him in the spring. Jaron didn't need someone to talk to or someone that he needed to unload all the feelings that he felt inside his mind, he just needed someone there to hold his hand and to prevent his fists from balling so tight that it caused his palm to bleed. Sev had functioned as that rock that Jaron could lean on, to squeeze in times of duress, and in his absence Jaron had failed to reform that ability within himself to recognize his own ability to survive. He had, up to this point, faked it. Faked smiles, faked handshakes and faked laughs. He had had no one to talk about any of the feelings and the emotions that went through his mind; Jaron kept himself busy with physical work and travelling to escape the silence of turmoil in his mind. That small squeeze, that tiny gesture was enough to crack the hard facade that Jaron had put up. Something that was easy for Astrolabe to do, even though the man was probably unaware of the growing bond that Jaron was reestablishing between the two men, a bond that had lay dormant these past four years, as the two men only lived through each other's lives through letters on a piece of paper. Jaron had hoped that the crack was a good thing, that it would mean that the bond between the two men were as they were before, but something felt wrong. Something felt very wrong about that crack that started to grow in his mind. The question, the test that Jaron assumed Astrolabe was conducting (Maybe he truly was a mage at heart, Jaron thought) was enough for him to firm his lips together and pause. He could feel the heat and anger bubble under the surface of his facial expression and he had to avert his gaze down to something nondescript on the table to avoid glaring at Astrolabe. Jaron had invited the question, of course, and now he had to face the reality that he wasn't truly ready to talk about this subject just yet, despite bringing it up earlier about Zeltiva from Sev's perspective. His fingers gripped around the tankard tight, the white around his knuckles showing that if the tankard had any faults in its structure it was moments away from becoming shattered in his grasp. Jaron could feel the sweat start to bead in his hand, not from the condensation of the tankard but from his palm, and the eerie feeling all over his body like someone had just taken the intense heat from a forge and moved it right behind his body. Instead of the rapid breathing associated with an anxiety attack, Jaron's breathing slowed until nothing, as if he was body was entering hibernation. He could feel the rapid beat of his heart in his chest but his lungs refused to cooperate, instead of fight or flight, Jaron's lungs were trying to play dead while his heart was preparing for flight. "No," Jaron said to himself as his eyes never left the table between them. He said "no" in regards to his body's response to such a simple query, to such a simple response that he had to give Astrolabe. A rehearsed response that he had given to dozens of people but for Astrolabe he knew that a generic reply wouldn't suffice. It wasn't simply the reply that cracked the dam that Jaron had so elaborately created, it was the tone of his voice, that almost vindictive tone as Astrolabe tested to see how strong Jaron truly was. Jaron failed the test. He pushed himself up and away from the able, his fingers releasing the tankard and his head shaking from side to side as he stemmed the flow of water from his eyes. Despite the tears flowing down and disappearing into his beard, Jaron didn't acknowledge their existence. Without giving any heed to any reaction that Astrolabe said, Jaron turned on his heels and turned to the door and tried to get there as soon as he could.

[Astrolabe]

OK . . . that didn’t go too well. Astrolabe was perplexed, but already kicking himself mentally. Somehow, he had gotten it all wrong. He had missed the cues and made an assumption, and yeah, well . . . you know what they say about assumptions. Jaron’s reaction wasn’t immediate, and as Astrolabe looked at his friend, wondering if he was going to answer the simple question, he studied the man’s face. Jaron looked . . . weathered. Aged. Almost before his eyes, the lines in Jaron’s face deepened, his features looking haggard – like an old, weary person ready to call it quits. Astrolabe, as usual, couldn’t think of how to correct what he now saw was a blunder. He had just opened his mouth to say, ‘Forget it,’ or ‘Don’t worry about it,’ or that tried and true ‘I’m sorry,’ when Jaron spoke first. But it was only the one word. No. Quiet but fierce. Of course, Astrolabe assumed that it was meant as a rebuke. His mouth opened and closed, like a fish, as he searched for the way to make amends. But already, Jaron had risen, his cheeks damp with free flowing tears, and he turned and hurried towards the door. Good lord! Astrolabe thought in dismay. What have I done? He couldn’t believe that, here was Jaron, traveled all this way to see him, and the best he could do was offend and hurt him! “Jaron, wait!” he said, his voice full of anguish. With a speed belying his size, Astrolabe rose and followed Jaron, who was already through the door and stepping out into the street. In his desire to make things right, Astro, determined not to let Jaron walk away from him, reached out and grabbed the lighter man, perhaps a bit more vigorously than he had intended. He caught Jaron’s upper arm and spun him about, forcing him off balance. For the second time that day, Astro found himself careening into his friend, grabbing him even harder to keep Jaron from crashing to the ground.