A Wolf Amongst The Herd

Rafe sat perched in a tree on the outskirts of the lake, watching in on the town to see what he could make of it. There were ways of telling if he was welcome, at times. Telling how much danger was around and if he could take the inhabitants of the town for their money if need be. The flash he had seen shortly before had drawn his attention to this place, but there was no way he could make out what had happened know. It was too late for that, whatever was there had passed. Now was the time to make his way into the town, to find the cause and, if possible, reap the benefits of someone else's labor

He hopped down from his tree, dressed in loose and light leathers alike. All tanned dark brown. His jacket hung loose, though the vest he wore beneath it was tight. He wore a gun holster around his chest, hiding a 6 shot pistol to his side. A celtic cross was engraved into the marble grip, though you'd never know for certain. Most times if you had seen this weapon, it was firing at you. He kept an ammo belt around his waist, above his loose leather pants. Dark gloves covered his hands, though you could catch a scarce trace of tattoos before his arms entered his sleeves. His hair was light. Brown mostly, with a touch of dark blonde hidden away. His eyes were a grey/green, and most never forgot it when they saw them. Not because they were beautiful, but because of the emptiness. That, and the scar.

Rafe made his way to the lake town, carrying with him a few fruits in a pouch. He raised one up to his mouth and took the first bite, enjoying the flavor of the juice as it ran out over his face. He wiped his thin lips with his covered forearm, continuing the actions of biting, chewing, and wiping until he reached the water. He then threw the half eaten fruit behind him, looking around for a boat of some sorts to reach the town without getting wet. Get guns meant guns that would not fire, and he couldn't take that chance. Swimming was not an option. He cupped his two hands over his mouth, shouting and projecting the best he could.

"Anyone around? How in the hell do I get to your town?"

Now he only had to wait for a response, if he got one at all. If not, it would require a bit more cunning to reap other's rewards. And hopefully, find out more about the blinding light and what caused it.

The sounds of his foot steps were ethereal in nature, easily compared to the density of his presence as he approached the shore. The lands, by then, had been ravaged by the horrible fluctuations of the world’s anger. There had been thunderous tendrils of mana bursting about in the sky, there had been tidal waves, earth quakes, rain that wasn’t as its every-day counterpart; overall, it had been nothing but destruction. When he cast his gaze upon the town, which almost lackadaisically floated about in the water, he had to wonder how it had managed to stay so pretty.

The fruit, which had been tossed off towards the rear, never made the fulfilling sound of contact with the ground below. Instead, it smacked against something, and soon thereafter, a crunching noise ensued. Artist held, in hand, the apple that this man had so wastefully decided to throw away. “This fruit is far too tasty to waste,” should Rafe turn around and see, he’d lay his eyes on a young man, wearing a suit. Although he stood erect, and even though he walked as though no will on earth could ever halve his intent, he was almost frail in nature. The look on his countenance made him appear as though he was as glass, prone to shattering in response to even the meekest force.

“I’d imagine that there will be no transport today, or tomorrow, or even the day after that. I wouldn’t be surprised if all of the boats were wiped out by yesterday’s . . . torrent,” he smiled widely as he savored the fruit that lay in his mouth. “Don’t you feel it, whatever your name is? The world is either angry, or . . . burdened by the deepest, darkest sorrow,” those shoulders rose once more, shrugging off the topic before he continued towards the shore. “Come, I suppose we’ll have to walk there."

Before the water ever splashed up onto his shoes, Artist’s kneecap rose, as though there was an invisible step before him. As it started to come down, it met something, and as a result, Artist ascended higher into the sky as though he was walking up a stair case. “Come on, keep up, it’s just as easy as walking on the sky. Hurry up, or I’ll leave you behind.” When he was high enough above the water, Artist changed his direction, moving towards Bella with one hand in his pocket, and the other occupied with the delicious fruit.

“This apple is great. It tastes better than normal,” it was then that his eyes widened in realization. The surprise went away as quickly as it had come. “The trees must be happy.”

Rafe, who was not exactly skeptical of magic but more wary of it, followed in suit behind the man of quizzical nature. His only hope was that this one was not a trickster of sorts, who might cause Rafe to fall down into the water below him. There was only one person Rafe felt like he could trust and that was himself. For him, that was the way the world had always been. A cruel and unfortunate devil who sent awful things your way whenever it could. That was the way that this plain of existance worked for Rafe. And for that, he hated it and the entire world. He stepped up behind Artist on the staircase, pushing away his thoughts and his distrust. If this was an honest man than he'd soon enter the town and if not, well...perhaps he could pop off a shot in time to frustrate others before he became completely soaked. He placed his hand close to his pistol before speaking out roughly.

"You don't seem to have any problem eating after another. And your respect for nature is...something to admire, I suppose." He stopped for a moment and looked towards the town, then back around to the rushing waters below and out. A place like this could be paradise for most. The few paradises before this that he had gone to were easily felled. All but one. The paradise was a lie in that place. The appearance quickly fell away when he realized it was a military zone. Of course this place didn't seem like it would be hostile like that one. There was no strategic advantage to holding a city build over a lake. Unless resources were plentiful. Hm...

Rafe snapped himself out of thought and continued following Artist, realizing he had started to lag behind. He spoke again, hoping that he could ease any tension he was putting off into the air. It was no way to enter a new place.

"The name is Rafe. You'll have to pardon any rudeness but I've been away for civilization for a while. I've quite certainly forgotten how to act when it comes to the nature of humanity. Got anything I can call you, friend?" He continued walking, not really looking at the man up front but decidedly listening for a response.

When Rafe took his first step towards the sky, he encountered a responsive presence that allowed him to continue. It didn’t take too many steps to find himself high enough from the water below them, and soon thereafter, they were simply on their way. “You don’t look sick, so I shouldn’t have to, am I right? Well, now that you mention it, there’s no possible way of determining whether you wash your mouth frequently,” right then and there, he reluctantly held the apple in his hand, and was displeased with the fact that there wasn't anything but the center left. “In any case, the seeds of an apple tree can be helpful,” with that, he picked off the seeds and allowed the apple to plummet, right into the water below.

It didn’t take the deepest, most concentrated rumination to determine whether or not Rafe was wary about the situation at hand. The simple fact that he had allowed himself to lag behind spoke of the torrent of thoughts that coursed throughout his mind, and Artist merely shook his head, curious with what it was that made him so concerned. “Oh, that explains a lot,” Artist laughed under his breath. “My name’s Artist,” Bella grew closer with each and every step they took, and the time went by quicker than he thought it would. It probably had a lot to do with the fact that he had company.

A couple of minutes had gone by, and soon Bella’s docks were in plain view. Immediately, there were no boats to be seen, but the town itself was bustling with what activity should be expected during the day. Artist smiled widely when he realized that a couple of people, standing at the edge of the town itself, stared at them in awe and pointed at them, alerting others of what it was they were seeing. “They’ve probably never seen a man walk on air before,” Artist shrugged, and eventually, he stepped onto the surface of the town. He imagined that Rafe was close behind.

“Welcome to Bella, Rafe; this is the town that boldly floats above the surface of the water, without even the tiniest inkling of wariness for what havoc the sea may wreak,” for a couple of moments, everything was silent, before a small child ran up to him and slammed her fist against Artist’s thigh. Her voice was high-pitched and saturated with a most vehement anger, “You are wrong!” she yelled. “We are more scareded than you could even . . . think! Mom says that a couple of days ago, God put Hell on earth! You should have seen it! The water wanted to EAT us!”

Artist, unmoved by the girl’s tiny fist, grew surprised by her response. Eventually, he smiled and nodded, “Oh, I’m sorry, I had no idea. It’s just that the town seems fine,” the girl, embarrassed with her effusive display of emotions, put her hands behind her back, fingers intertwining with one another before she explained. “Oh, well, mom told me that the town isn’t hurt . . . supe- ,” the girl stuttered, “superficially, but deep inside, we’re all hurting. All the mans who drive the boats saved us, but only a little of them made it back.”

The look on Artist’s countenance grew dim, “Oh, I see, I’m sorry.” The girl was quick to flash him a smile, “It’s okay!” with that, she was on her way. Artist put both of his hands in his pockets and stood there, carrying his gaze about the town.

Rafe admired how quickly the girl changed from angry to acceptance. When she ran off to wherever she was going, Rafe let out a hidden smile. Perhaps she was going off to tell her friends she had been the first to talk with the outsiders. He was betting there were now many widows, due to these storms, who were once like her. There was no sadness upon realizing this. Rafe knew that you couldn't have everything you wanted, and some people never got anything they wanted. Life was cruel and it was better to understand this at a younger age. The loss of innocence he guessed it was, when you realized how cruel life was. It could easily break anyone. But perhaps such a bleak view on things wasn't such a good idea either. After all, they all did have to live that life until Death, too, came for them. Who could say for certain, he thought. There were more important things to presently pay attention to. He let his mouth drop open slightly as he looked around, tasting the air. This place posed no threat at the moment. But there were those around that could. Much like Artist himself.

The man twisted and bent the air so that the two of them could walk on it. At first Rafe had just assumed it was an enchanted path, hidden away so noone could reach the town on the lake. But when he spoke of the townspeople never seeing someone walk on air it clicked instantly. A man who could manipulate air. And he did it so much better than Rafe could ever hope to. He could quite possibly destroy Rafe with an instants thought. Yet he showed no hostility. When he plucked out the Apple Seeds, it seemed to show a certain love for the planet. But this could have easily been something else. Either this would be saint could be easily manipulated, or he would be a very defensive fighter. The type that never starts a fight but would never back down. Rafe could only assume these things of course. He hardly knew anything yet, and he made a note to himself not to set either of these things as fact.

Hearing the breeze across the water, and tasting that fresh air taste, Rafe snapped back into the present. This place was nice. He imagined fishermen who would normally be sitting on the docks, a peaceful tune played by the wind in their ears. The inside of the city bustling with women doing chores and making small-talk, while children ran about playing. Chasing hoops with sticks, he guessed. He smiled again. Bella could have quite possibly been the nicest town he had ever laid his eyes on. Of course that wasn't TRUELY saying much at all, was it? He kicked the dock with the heel of his boot to test the durability. He knew he wouldn't have to, but there were many things people did just out of habit. He then allowed his eyes to dance around, taking in the houses and the town people at work. He chuckled lightly as he pictured women with baskets of fruit held above their heads and rested there for balance. The magic here seemed to be in full force, but where it was he couldn't place. Magic was not his Forte, guns were. He took a few steps forward, in front of artist, checking the place out. Primative compared to the slums he had just come from, but perhaps that's what made it so nice. Not yet touched by the vileness of extreme politics and magicka-run machinery. He touched his cheek with this back of his thumb, then turned to face Artist.

"Tell me about this land. Is there no Machinery? And what do you know of the flashes of light?" Rafe really hadn't expected to come to such a peaceful town. It was almost a shame to disrupt it with his thievery and tricks. But a man has to survive, and money is key to that. He had already begun making notes in his mind of the town's layout. With the men of the town lost and injured, there were going to be several widows who could be easily taken for what they had. This had to be done in secret, one hundred percent. If there were more people like Artist around, a huge fight would not be one he could win. Perhaps he could spend a few weeks here, helping rebuild and gaining the trust of the people before he took what he needed. Play it smart. Then when the time came he could surprise them all and be off before a fight was even thought to break out. This one would definetaly have to be played by ear.

Artist turned his attention towards Rafe, and those shoulders rose once more as he tried to bring to mind what little he knew about the town. “I honestly have no idea if the town uses any machinery. You see, this is the first time I’ve ever visited,” Artist paced along, still looking around, and once he felt that he had drawn in enough, he turned back to Rafe and continued speaking. “You said you have been away from civilization a long time? I think that this is the perfect place for you to re-introduce yourself. I’m sure they’re looking for able-bodied men to build ships.”

Although he was still looking at Rafe, Artist was making his way towards a nearby support column. “That, and they’ll probably be looking for more men to work the ships. How do you feel about becoming a fisherman?” He let the idea sink in, as though he simply let it float about freely until Rafe decided that he should pluck it from the sky. Soon thereafter, however, Artist reached towards the support column and ripped a piece of paper from its surface, holding its front side so that Rafe may view it. “Or, you can put those guns to use,” on the sheet, there was a wanted man by the name of Skull Ripper Joe.

“I’m assuming you’re in need of money,” at this point in time, Artist had no idea that Rafe was the thieving type, “so unless you plan on robbing or begging, I suggest you make a quick decision.” Artist tossed the paper away, allowing it to be carried away by the wayward wind, “Lets go look around. I’m sure this place has some things of interest for us to see.” Before he began walking, he gestured towards a nearby shop, “Magical Trinkets is a really, really bad and blunt name for a shop, but it sounds interesting nevertheless. That’s where I’m going first.”

Soon enough, he found himself stepping through the front door, casting his gaze upon a worn shop who’s trinkets were shinier than the shop itself. An old lady sat at the front counter, kept in company by a younger woman who was quick to welcome him, “Ah, they’re the ones who came here walking on the air, Grandmother.” The old lady, without hardship, turned her head to place her gaze on Artist’s physicality. “Oh, what a frail young man,” her voice was raspy, yet venomous in a subtle sense, “He very much looks like the type who needs help from the preternatural. Come in, boy, you’ll definitely find something to pry the bullies from your back around here.”

Artist’s hand rose, and his lips expanded into an embarrassed smile as he caressed the back of his neck. “Thank you,” with that, he made his way into one of the aisles. During the very moment in which he placed his hand on one of the trinkets, the details of its use gently came flooding into the depths of his mind. “That’s quite the convenient enchantment you have there, Grandma,” he whispered to himself.

Rafe touched the hilt of his Six-shooter, Yang, while watching Artist walk into a hut. Pistols were not exactly a last resort, but he was unsure of bounty hunting. A match of skill, both outlaws with bounties on their heads. Would Fire Hand, his mentor, approve? This was a matter which had to be treaded on carefully. Fishing, while relaxing, was no life for Rafe. Helping to build a ship might take the required time he needed...He let out a sigh. The decision was rough, and right now all he felt was tired. Ever since he set foot in the village his stance went from defensive to relaxed. Hm...He would help to build the boats, fish if needed, and keep his eyes open for the bounty. If he accomplished all three, people might even let him into their homes. Most small towns were wary of outsiders, but he could find a way to make himself trusted. He'd done it before with success, he could do it again.

He made his way into the hut behind Artist, looking around for him carefully as he moved a rolled cigarette up to this thin lips. He stuck it in, lighting it with the small bit of fire magic he knew. Fire Hand would definetaly look down on such an abuse of magic. He shrugged it off, walking around the hut with his thoughts ablaze. He had no idea what any of this stuff meant. Fire Hand had trinkets of the same sort, but he never knew what his meant either. He never got the chance to learn.

He pulled the cigarette down from his mouth and ashed it onto the floor, going back up for a few more drags. Once he replaced the smokey treat, he held his hand out infront of himself. It was shaking, which meant his blood sugar was low. He reached into the pouch and pulled out another fruit, smoking and eating at the same time. Taste was nothing to Rafe. It was only something that had to be done to survive, and most things of that nature that people found enjoyable, Rafe did not. He was truely dead inside, moving forward only to exist. Fire Hand would tell him that it was his lack of reason or purpose. At this point, he didn't care though. There was no ultimate goal, no great cause to live for. There never would be, he was sure of that. There was only existance, and there was death. And they were both the same thing to Rafe.

He walked back outside of the trinket shop, tossing the cigarette through the cracks of the floor and into the water below. He looked at the shop, then to his fruit, pulling out the seeds for Artist. He placed the seeds in his bag, throwing the fruit core on the ground. Noone had seen him, but he doubted anyone would care if they had. Perhaps now was a good time to rest. He wandered off on his own, looking for a nice to inn to lay his head down. Hopefully, Artist would not take offense to his leaving. Hopefully, Artist would find him. But maybe he wouldn't.

Artist’s interest eventually found itself harbored in the potion section, and he curiously made his way along, placing his fingers over the selections and listening intently to the description of words that coursed throughout his mind. The moments meant nothing then; Artist knew what he wanted to take as soon as he heard it, and as quickly as that, his fingers had wrapped around a curious yellow potion. “This will be useful,” he moved on as he spoke, eyes aligned with the potion, and when he averted his gaze, he found the image of excitement itself.

“Rafe!”

When he turned around to look, he didn’t find who he was looking for; instead, he found the scrutinizing eyes of old lady who owned the trinket shop. Artist watched her curiously, and eventually, she spoke, “Your friend’s not here; he left. You’ve chosen the yellow potion. That’s a pretty cowardly decision, boy.” His eyelids closed down over his eyes ever so slightly, as if they had been weighed down by the irritation that was growing mature within.

“What you need,” he smiled widely, and the most putrid of insults was slipping off the tip of his tongue, but he managed to avert the need. “Grandmother, is one of those true-sight glasses, because what you see sometimes isn’t what you see.” The old lady finally managed to smile towards him, “Your backbone isn’t as absent as I thought it was. You should tell your friend about that section, when you find him,” she gestured towards the arcane bullets that were contained in an iron case.

“Yeah, well, I’ll take two cases of dispel bullets, the ones with twelve in each case.”

A couple of minutes later, Artist came around the inn that Rafe had checked into after asking around. He left two cases of dispel bullets for Rafe, one with six less dispel bullets in it, and a note. The note read:

“Get yourself introduced, make a living, and next time I see you, depending on how well you’ve done for yourself, I will make your guns better than they are now.”

With that, Artist was gone.

[ Exit: Artist. ]