One Turn Too Far

[Lief]

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The Lower District, Bastion​

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With a bundle of cloth under one arm, the boy rounded the corner and hurried on with his eyes downcast. Rain poured from the sky, sending showers from the edge of slanted rooftops and pooling on the ground in great puddles. Despite the grim weather, merchants shouted their wares from stalls and shopfronts, some even standing in doorways trying to tempt innocent bystanders into entering their establishment.

It wasn't until he knocked into a shrouded woman, and looked up to hastily apologize, that Thesh realized he had no clue where he was.

Heart in his throat, his previously quick pace faltered until he simply stood in the middle of the foot lane; somehow the rain seemed to fall heavier then, soaking him to the bone, and the gorgeous fabric he'd been entrusted with was nearing ruin. Eyes darted every which way, and he turned full circle twice before losing track of where he'd come from, and where he'd unknowingly been headed.

"Watch it, Sculag," a particularly addled individual snapped, as he walked around the boy, and it wasn't until he was already walking away that he realized with some surprise that the man's skin was blue. Blue skin? Surely he'd seen wrong?

A sudden shiver put his boots back to dirt, and he decided to trudge on further through the streets in hopes of finding something which might direct him back home. The problem was, home was amidst tall towers and highrises, and where he had presently ended up consisted of smaller two-or-three storied buildings all connected to one another. There was none of the luxury, the stalls looked about ready to fall and a mess of tapestries hung from windows and overpasses despite the poor weather.

He could feel his heart pounding, blood rushing to his ears, and his breathing became both ragged and constricted all at once. Walking turned into a jog, and a jog into a sprint, and before he knew it Thesh was racing on ahead as though his very life depended on it, bundle clutched to his chest. Panting, panicking, he eventually stumbled and landed hard against the rocky ground, sending a sharp pain through his knee and causing the cloth to sprawl out into a puddle.

"Oh no," he breathed, tears already welling up in his eyes, all concern for his bloodied knee taking the wayside when compared to the soggy bundle, "Oh no, oh no..."

Collecting up the cloth he rose and limped forward a few feet before being yanked aside by unseen hands into an overly warm building. The establishment was filled with musk and smoke and had him coughing, though when he looked up to find out who had pulled him in from the rain the individual had already left.

Boots squelched as he took another step inside, regaining his bearings. The warmth at least might help with the wetness of his clothes and the bundle, but the dirt?

That would still be something he'd have to explain to [member="Darth Maliphant"] when he finally returned home. If he ever got home.

A few eyes glanced his way, several individuals whispering - no doubt discussing how wrong it was for a child to be in such a place - yet despite his better judgement the boy found the room much too welcoming to skip out on. Instead he hobbled toward the source of the heat, a brazier, and tried to keep his head down.

 

[Via Dolorosa]

Bastion, like most places the witch visited, was foreign and unnerving. Unlike home, this place was bustling with activity, filled with one soul to many; hosting an array of structures with varying degrees of architectural designs at play. The Empire of the Sith ruled here, and what little bits of information she knew came from one of her Mothers; who warned her not to go. But go she must. There were questions needing answered.

With no itinerary, only questions, the woman walked aimlessly through the district, stopping only briefly to view the wares set on display by the proprietors of street kiosks. Sniffing gently, she caught the scent of change in the ozone, prompting her to look upward to see the skies had darkened; just as the first drop of rain fell. Smiling, she pulled back the dark fabrics that guarded her skin valiantly against the blaring sun. Where she embraced the abrupt change in weather, others had not. Rushing from one spot to an apparent other, the citizens dashed for cover; even the street vendors closed up shop.

"It's just water," she said amusingly.

In an instant, the streets had become nearly silent, the streets free of the oppression of footfalls.

"Best take shelter, miss," a deep, husky voice bellowed in passing. "Bound to get worse. 'Tis the way of Bastion weather." Looking about for shelter, though she feared the rain not, it was in her best interest to heed the advice of a local. Spying a cornered, situated establishment among other buildings, she charged toward it; entering into a den of smoke and haze. There was an aura of stench about the place; either from the bodies, the crackling fire, or the sour aromatic smells radiating from liquid filled mugs.

Darting her eyes about, she noticed three things. One, an open table with two vacant chairs. Two, a young boy standing by the fire soaking up what warmth it could provide. And three, several of the patrons transfixed on the boy. Drifting through the place, where upon she conquered the lone table, she sat. Her eyes turned to the boy, a fascination overcoming her. When the boy would turn she would push the one remaining chair outward, a gesture for him to join her.


[member="Thesh"]

 

[Lief]

Already he could feel circulation returning to his aching limbs, and frigid fingertips. As the chill was cast out, and his concerns about the fabric waned, a dull ache set in to his right leg. Glancing down he could see the ruddy ichor of life seeping through his grey trousers - after all, he had been running a regular old errand, and hadn't worn his robes - and that caused his eyes to practically bulge.

There, by the brazier, he knelt and pulled up his trouser leg. A decent sized gash ran across the taut skin at the joint, though thankfully it was free from debris. He'd incurred numerous, disgusting wounds before now, and those which were filled with stones and dirt often hurt the most, and took the longest to heal.

Craven though he may have been, the blood did not really phase him after the initial shock had set in. His had been a life of hardship already, he was no stranger to such, and he'd tended to more than his fair share of injuries on others too, albeit in the most minimal sense. Cleaning them, so they could be prepped for bacta or bandages. Whichever was chosen.

Some liked to show their scars, he had discovered.

Back on his feet, he felt a chill seep through the room and turned to watch the door closing shut. She who had opened it had the boy stare much in the way many patrons were staring at him, slack jawed in surprise. Though he did it through a different kind of disbelief: the lady was beautiful, more beautiful than a boy his age had ever seen, and he immediately questioned her angelic state.

She had to be an angel, right?

Thankfully she looked to be human, unlike the strange blue-skinned fellow he'd almost ran into earlier, though her features were ... odd. Something was different about her, but he couldn't figure out what.

Then, much to his horror, she pushed out the spare chair at her table and gestured for him - really, him? - to join her. He glanced around himself, only to find everyone else seated, trying to see if anyone else had seen the lady, and then he slowly made his way toward her. There was a nervousness to his gait, a subtle tremor to the hands which still held the soggy bundle, and when he finally arrived he bowed his head deeply and said nothing at all.

For what could one say to a literal angel?

[member="Xiang Vang"]