A Novice Vagrant [Open]

[Victor Lark]

13 Spring, AV 511


Tiny pieces of debris fell onto the stone path from above, clicking and tripping with momentum. One rolled into the canal and from it sprouted two thin ripples in the water. A whispered curse might have been heard from the rooftops, and then the violet morning air was quiet again.

Atop some fading yellow shingles in the Noble’s District stood a young man of short stature. His look was probably more shocked than it ought to have been: the whites of his eyes flashed in the dim light of the rising sun. His arms reached out tentatively to either side, one hand gripping a small wooden traveller’s trunk. He searched the empty area for any witness to the commotion and, upon discovering none, ducked and skirted the roof almost noiselessly.

As he leapt the small gaps between buildings, he seemed too cautious about being seen. It was as if he thought that the city guard had nothing better to do than catch a runaway, or that some relative or family friend would care enough to tattle. He did not want to consider the fact that they might not even miss him – or worse, that they would.

Nearing the city's center, he found a few early waking merchants and priests roaming the sidewalks below, and yet his gait became less protected, less afraid. He did not know what the future had in store and he had only a vague idea of what to expect outside the city walls. He had no plan, but he did have a few merchant friends that might give him some advice. He was confident, optimistic even, having since decided to let his instincts guide the way. He trusted that the same gut feeling that had inspired him to leave would lead him well enough.

He found a window ledge beside a stone chimney and slowly eased his way to an alley at ground level. His hands traced closed shop fronts as he paced into familiar territory, slowly shedding his anxieties as he progressed further from the place that was once his home.

[Reaver]

Again, Reaver found himself enjoying the night. He began to ponder why it was night he favored over the day. Maybe it's the mystery. So much feels less known in the night. The locked doors like treasure chests and secrets. Maybe I was a thief in my former life. As he was pondering, he almost walked right into another individual at a crossing, the other's quick reflexes letting him dart out of the way in time.

Startled, Reaver almost fell backwards himself, the weight of his armor holding him steady to the ground. "My apologies." Reaver said with a bow. "You wouldn't happen to have seen someone injured nearby, have you?"

[Victor Lark]

Victor knew the way like the back of his hand. He knew the nearest place to hide if he should ever find the reason, and he knew every detour should he need to stray. In the melting anxiety, a sense of thrill overtook him. He forgot to pay attention to every step because he no longer required the silence of stealth. Assuming the streets to be empty due to the time of day, his vision became a lazy afterthought and slipped into a simple blur. Memory led him, and beautiful instinct.

Up ahead, he was to turn onto a bridge. With the weight of his trunk acting as a purveyor of momentum, he meant to round the corner and continue flying south. But it was not meant to be.

A man stepped in front of him suddenly, leaving the boy spinning to avoid him. So that the heavy box in his hand would not swing round to hit the stranger, Victor’s fingers reflexively loosed on his only possessions and he inadvertently tossed the trunk into the still water.

Stunned and out of breath, he stuttered a mutual apology as his eyes attempted to decide between examining the man’s peculiar appearance and keeping a tab on his floating luggage. He ultimately chose to crouch at the edge of the stone walk and reach haphazardly for it, acknowledging the stranger with his voice. “Well, no,” he responded, unsure how he felt about the strange request until he realized how frightened he must have seemed. “No, the morning is uneventful so far," he lied.

His arms were not long enough. Even though his treasure was barely moving in the boatless canal, he could not reach it. He did not want to seem desperate, so he stood and gave a casual smile as tried to distract himself from his trouble, “Why do you ask, if I may ask?”

[Reaver]

Reaver pondered the situation before him, it seamed he caused a man to lose whatever he was carrying to the water. Walking around to where the chest would make its way, he lowered himself into the water and used his foot to hinder the chest's further movement.

"I'm a doctor, I need injuries to work on my trade. I'm also a hobbyist of trading training for trades, if that suits your interest." Reaver pondered if his last statement was a bit much at once. I have a feeling a confused look is coming up.

"Now you know why I'm here, might I ask what you were off to do? Before my interruption, of course."

[Victor Lark]

A few moments passed and the water, which he thought to be unmoving, slowly and patiently carried his box to the odd man’s cleverly waiting foot. Victor laughed breathily in embarrassment at the simple solution. He stepped forward and bent to catch the thing out of the water as his question was answered.

The soft noise of falling droplets patted lightly over his voice. As he spoke, Victor felt a certain unease, though whether it was for the man’s mere air or his cryptic words, he could not tell. The human granted that expression of confusion which Reaver had so readily expected, a slanted mouth and a raised eyebrow... accompanied by an amused smile. He thought he could see in this stranger’s face a faint yearning to be asked, to be interrogated about his trade, and Victor was more than curious enough to oblige. He relished the mystery of it.

“I was up to no good, of course,” he replied. The statement was less true than he wished it were. He quickly changed the conversation back to its more interesting subject. “What, exactly, do you trade for training and what sort of training do you trade?”

An ember of excitement kindled in his mind, sparkling through his eyes. He set down his trunk a few inches from its puddle. He spoke a little faster, but he did not stumble over his words. “Tell me, doctor, if I were to offer some sort of training, would you heal me of a wound I do not have? Or you would teach me to heal! I wish I knew something to teach you!”

[Reaver]

"Up to no good, sounds like a fitting answer as any." Reaver lifted himself out of the water, with some effort. The armor wasn't so light as to make it easy. Sitting along the water's edge, he answered plainly. "I trade training for training, of course. It's a simple design. And I train in any trade I have knowledge of."

Reaver looked over the other individual as the 'troublemaker' got his trunk from the water. “Tell me, doctor, if I were to offer some sort of training, would you heal me of a wound I do not have? Or you would teach me to heal! I wish I knew something to teach you!” "You mean you know nothing, or know not how to train? You look agile, swifter then some of your age. Is that not a skill?" Reaver reached under his cloak, and pulled from the bag underneath a sewing needle and some thread. "Teach you to heal? That's a tricky question. I could teach you how to help people heal on their own. That is the simplest course for a doctor. But that training comes at a price, and that price varies from person to person. I believe I named the bargaining chip."

Reaver took his time, threading the needle, not looking to the younger person to his side. And with luck, and trust, he'll know something I might want to learn.

[Victor Lark]

Forced to think about himself and his talents, he began to lose his grasp on the previous rush of excitement. He might have found entertainment in learning something new, but the buzz of the morning’s chosen adventure lingered at the back of his mind. He wanted to explore the world! And he did not want to stick around long enough to bump into anyone that would call him a coward for it.

But this was an interesting character, this moneyless tradesman, and Victor’s curiosity overwhelmed his itching feet. The sewing materials struck him as unique, but he did not consider their alternative uses. He did not see them quite as remarkable as the prospect of doctoring. That knowledge would serve useful in his journeys ahead.

First, he had to share a skill of his own. He was good at talking to persons of the female variety, but that was an awfully difficult thing to teach. He had also developed a knack for getting what he wanted, but he had yet to determine if his strategies worked on anyone outside his family’s circle. As his eyes moved upward in thought, he caught a glance of the building tops and recalled what he had been doing that very morning. His chin popped down again, pulling his gaze to the busy other. “I have spent my life on these streets. Or rather these waters and these roofs. I always thought you’d just need a knack for it, but I could maybe train you in the art of traversing a city without touching the ground. You wouldn’t consider yourself clumsy, would you, doctor?”

[Reaver]

"Clumsy comes with the suit. How many of the tops up there would hold me? My... physical fitness also does not improve with practice, in my age. Mayhaps it would be more fitting to learn how to fall."

Reaver will look at his tools, not sure as how to train him without an example. "If you would like, I have texts on my understanding of the healing process. If we stopped by where I live, I could lend you one of my books."

[Victor Lark]

As he had not yet considered the fact that the doctor was nonhuman, Victor was finding it more difficult than usual to read him. He decided it best to take the words at face value and replied honestly, “Falling is a valuable talent. It’s enough to be pushed; falling shouldn’t be the thing that hurts you. I’ve learned that the hard way, to say the least.”

He leaned over to pick up his trunk and set in long-ways against the wall of the unoccupied corner shop. As a suggestion of the means for his own training met his ears, the boy was hesitant. He was not an intellectual. He was certainly literate, but had never much enjoyed the company of books or the tedium of study. Also, he feared that moving through the city would stir up his restlessness again. If was not often that Victor maintained the subject of conversation even as it begged to be changed. “Since it seems I am rather lacking in usefulness,” he continued, “I could at least teach you to fall without injury, if you can’t already.” With a wink and a laugh, he added, “It can work with the suit, and by the looks of you, you probably get into enough fights to use it. Who knows, maybe I’ll prove myself a hypocrite and make a wound for you to fix!”

[Reaver]

Reaver smiled at the comments. "I use it to sink. I start my lesson with teaching you to help a body heal on it's own. You start yours with teaching me to fall. Sounds about even, then. Who goes first?"

A hard question. The first one to learn always has an easier time learning, but not remembering. The second has a harder time learning, but better remembered.