Average Warband Discourse

1333 AE

 

He really ought to keep his mouth shut, but the moment he laid eyes on her after all these years, Lucien was just itching to call over to her with a scathing remark. The lithe, leopard-spotted charr from his memories was walking and talking animatedly with a seemingly modest sylvari, looking much too happy for the engineer’s taste. A simple blindfold covered sylvari’s eyes, complimenting the cane he walked with, and Lucien thought his upright posture and calm demeanor was every bit the opposite of the loud-mouthed charr beside him. How that poor sap ended up being dragged along with Sorio, he couldn’t guess. 

However, as he watched the two amble about the market of the Black Citadel, he got the feeling that the mint green sylvari didn’t mind his position. He let Sorio do all the talking, and  intermittently smiled and nodded, even laughing as she told a joke about some old Kodan saying… When did she know the Kodan sayings?  

And the longer he watched them, the angrier he got. 

It was completely irrational, and deeply unsettling to him. He didn’t care about her anymore. Lucien hated her. But before long, his amused sympathy for the sylvari gave way to a burning annoyance, and he hadn’t even spoken to him. 

If he didn’t know any better, he might think himself jealous.

But things got worse, as they usually do, when Sorio pulled her partner with a gentle paw over to his shop, not even bothering to glance inside at the charr who ran it.

“Huh, this knife ain’t so bad,” She remarked aloud as she picked up one of his displayed weapons, holding it up to the burning Ascalonian sun to examine the sharpness of the blade. “Check it out, Myrick.”

Myrick, huh. 

He seemed to take pause, then reached out in the direction of the knife, to which Sorio gasped and snatched it away from him, tutting in disapproval. “Don’t grab it! You’ll cut yourself!” 

“Seneca… It’s not like I can look at it. Give it to me,” He smiled wryly, holding his hand open this time for her to place it in his palm. She obliged, but still hovered as he turned it over in his hands, gingerly feeling along the blade with a finger. He nodded, and passed it back to her. “Feels like good quality to me.”

“Hm. Shopkeep, how much is…” She began, finally casting her gaze deeper into the shade of the weapons stall, where Lucien was sitting with one elbow resting on his table, face in his palm, face deeply unimpressed. The rest of her words stuck in her throat, and if he was being honest, it was so worth it to have bitten his tongue, if only to see the gratifying shock on her face. 

“No hello or anything?” He asked, rolling his eyes. “Good to know you still have the manners of a heifer, Sorio.”

“Emberrazor,” She forced out, a look of displeasure washing over her shock from heartbeats before. 

“That’s Echoweld to you,” He corrected, getting to his feet. “Actually, thanks to you.”

The female charr let loose a harsh, crowing laugh, crossing her arms over her chest and lifting her chin. “That’s right,” She said, flicking her red braids back with a toss of her head. “They kicked you out too! What’s this, your third warband or something now? Having fun not being wanted?”

“At least I have a warband, you defecting punk!” He lashed his tail and leaned over his salesbooth, snatching the dagger out of her paws. “I’ll take none of your business. Go bother another vendor,” Lucien growled at her, frowning further when she held his gaze and refused to leave. 

Myrick listened to their spat wearing nothing but a slightly concerned frown on his face. He must be used to her fighting with strangers, if Lucien’s own outings with her in the past were the same story as today’s. “Who’s… the gentleman?” He asked reluctantly, giving his head a slight tilt and studying Lucien as if he could see through that blindfold of his. It was then that he noticed the necromantic one-eyed cat draped around Myrick’s shoulders, staring at him. Intense and unblinking. Lucien shivered slightly. 

Sorio tossed her company a sour eye roll, and barked a sharp laugh. “This is my sorry excuse of an ex. Lucien, Myrick,” She gestured between the two with a flippant hand. “Myrick, Lucien. We were in the Razor warband years ago, until he ruined it.” 

Lucien tried his best not to visibly bristle at her words. “I ruined it? Give yourself some damn credit, Sorio! Your ego and recklessness were going to get everyone killed, I was just the one who pointed it out first,” He hissed, jabbing a finger at her. “Especially after your little stunt in the Fireheart Rises. You know, Aurius is missing an arm because of you! You were in for a hell of a reprimand whether I said anything or not.” 

A derisive snort. “Say what you want, but I got the job done. Unlike you, who cowered behind the front lines without a single bit of backbone.” 

“You truly haven’t changed one bit.” He scoffed. “Get the fuck out, I don’t want your money.” 

“It’s really funny how you were too scared to help me on that battlefield, yet-”

“I’m an engineer! My job wasn’t to be on the front line, and you wouldn’t have been alone if you’d-”

“Too high and mighty sitting on your giant metal heap of trash to bother with me, huh? Then maybe you shouldn’t have joined a Blood Warband.” Sorio shouted, a thread of real hurt being woven into her harsh tones

“You told me to! That was your idea! You knew I’m not great at combat, so don’t you dare turn that onto me now,” He snapped back at her, yet the anger that had been present until now had shifted into something else. Straightening his back, he continued to hold her fierce emerald glare. His muzzle twitched intermittently, as if he was struggling to form a sentence behind his teeth. Sorio sneered.

Myrick, not looking at either of them, but thoughtfully at a space between, simply held up a polite hand. “Seneca…”

The female charr, jaw set hard, stared at Lucien a moment longer before letting her eyes slide shut and taking a sharp inhale. “I know. This is pointless,” She huffed.

A small smile appeared on the sylvari’s face. Turning his cheek in Lucien’s general direction, he bowed his head slightly. “Good luck with your business, sir.” 

As fast as the tensions broke, the atmosphere was clear and calm once more. Lucien, however, couldn’t help but feel he’d been battered by a passing hurricane. Only his widened honey eyes betrayed his surprise as the pair made a silent exit.

Sorio had deescalated a fight of her own accord? 

Glancing down, he turned the knife that started it over in his paws. He wouldn’t admit it, but shame was burning in his cheeks and ears. It was fortunate that he wasn’t furless like the other races such that it would be visible to others. He should’ve been the bigger person.

Thinking about that day, though…

He let out a faint sigh.

She was right, it was pointless now. There is no undoing any of it. 

Lucien has a new warband to focus on and take care of. A kind bunch of charr he’s happy to work with. And… new technology to be able to support the front, so that an incident like that would never happen again. 

Taking another glance at the bustling market around him, he saw that they were gone.

He set the knife down, and murmured two short, impossible words to the now-empty space in front of him.