Absinthe

Steps scuffed against cobblestone as he spilled out into the street, a hand held to his face from a punch he had very much deserved, but would for sure be complaining about until the redness left his skin. Laughter followed him as he turned back to the crooked door of the tavern, catching the glint of torchlight before it slammed shut behind him.

Another night, another barkeep utterly pissed off. Ah, well, he would get over it.

His breath puffed from his lips in an exasperated sigh, smelling heavily of alcohol and almonds, its soft cloud reminding him how truly cold the winter night was. His gaze turned to the sky once, wincing as he pulled his hand away from his cheek to pull his coat tighter around his form. At some point… a drink had spilled down the front of it, he had lost his hat, and… he turned his gaze down to his foot… his boot.

When had all of this happened? He wasn’t too terribly sure. The night blended together in a flurry of lights and fists and, now, an aching head and dulled senses.

There was a mutter of something unintelligible under his breath as he turned away from the tavern door, but beneath the shallow glint of the moonlight, a smile danced on his lips, dark eyes hooded with reckless influence. If news of his behavior reached his father… his husband… well, any part of that ridiculous extended family that he had unfortunately inherited…

Hands in the air, he danced down the street, riding the wave of alcohol in his system without a care that dirt squished between his bare toes or the way his coat slipped from his shoulder and drug behind him in the dirty streets. Oh, no, there was trouble waiting for him at home, and he could not wait to simply bathe in it.

Just as the hum on his lips started to turn into song, he was interrupted by a murmur rising in the streets. Despite the late hour, people spilled into the streets. Some chose to remain in their doorways, others in their windows, and the ones that are truly brave stepped into the cobblestone.

A witchfinder wagon bumped down the streets, its cargo silent beneath the dangerous stares of their captors. The murmurs turn to hushed whispers; and many find themselves stepping away as the wagon passes. No one wants to be in their way… Atreus included.

He turned his back to the wagon, straightening his coat back on his shoulders as his gaze found the ground. There was no way to explain the way his world started to spin as the wagon crept closer, dread sinking into the pit of his stomach and threatening to spill the contents of his bar escapade directly onto the streets. Overwhelming sadness, fear, and anger swirled together in a cocktail of emotions that did not feel like his own- there was no reason for his heart to be racing in his chest; for his gut to be twisting in knots; for his throat to be slowly closing…

When he looked back up in a gasping breath, his eyes immediately locked with a piercing gaze of another in the crowd. There was a shake in their breath, their posture rigid, screaming with the want to sprint. Their face- oh, it was so very familiar. A square jaw, scruffy beard, tangled hair that fell just past the shoulders- and the scar. It trailed from beneath their eye down to their chin, their nose crooked from whatever had scarred them, he was sure.

A face that had been posted up all over the city on wanted posters for weeks.

Atreus tried to force himself to do something - anything - as the recognition flooded across his features. He took a step forward, knees wobbling beneath his weight as his heart threatened to burst from his chest right there onto the streets. Instead of shouting for the witchfinders, he could only gasp for his own breath, one more step bringing him down to his knees with his hands catching himself against the side of a building.

He had never felt this before- this type of fear. It was nauseating, painful, dizzying… the streets around him starting to truly spin now as he tried to stand only to stumble back against the building. He could hear voices around him, laced in concern, asking him… asking him questions he couldn’t understand.

He caught one last glimpse of the wanted mage as they turned their back in the commotion he had caused, disappearing in shadows of a nearby alleyway just as the wagon rolled by.

And Atreus passed out right there, falling limp in the dirty street.