Two can keep a secret

Vilas

Faline had changed.

Admittedly the downtown had never been a haven of any sort even before all the recent calamities, being the perfect venue for less... regulated dealings, but where dark archways and narrow alleys had once been the home turf of smugglers, thieves, and other characters of questionable morals, were they now plagued by Vilas' own ilk. The Order mage Vilas',  not the spy's from Nymene, and it was with teeth grinding frustration he turned a corner and stole a glance at the Witchfinder who had been trailing him for a while now.

Of course he could've stopped. Surrendered and explained that he was, in fact, with the Order. He could even prove it, his Witchfinder pin securely hidden away in one of his pockets, but the less there was direct proof of him dallying about these parts of the city in his freetime, the better. That was, if his pursuer would bother with the proper conduct in the first place.

The Witchfinders' outside the Order's direct oversight were hardly an unified bunch even at the best of times, and so the fair mage kept his hood up, turning another corner in an attempt to confuse and shake off his unwanted companion.

The gray winter sky peeked from between the raised roofs, heavy and oppressive even when the alleyway opened up to a small market square, its stalls extending to the lower floors of the decrepit tile houses that lined it.

(242)

Harrow

The cool grey of the clouds covering the sky like a blanket did very little to offset the brightness and noise of the bustling marketplace below.

Yes, they had volunteered to run this errand. It had seemed like it would be fun, going out and looking at all the things on offer, and people-watching. Usually they enjoyed markets. But half an hour into the errand, Harrow had remembered why they went to larger marketplaces only on quieter days: it was too loud. There were too many people to keep track of, too many clashing colors, too many smells. The moths weren’t much help there; their input only piled more onto the sensory overload. So despite the need for extra caution, Harrow tried to use their magic as little as possible. They were very grouchy about it; they couldn’t enjoy looking at all the neat wares they wanted to look at, they had spent ten minutes arguing with someone over the price of illicit potion ingredients, and they had a headache. Their mood only got worse when they realized someone seemed to be following them; they kept glimpsing a figure amongst the crowd. It seemed to be the same person each time, since they were wearing the same clothes, but they couldn’t make out the details of the face. Maybe it could be different people wearing similar clothes- but maybe it wasn’t. They weren’t going to take their chances.

Their attempt to lose their distant shadow appeared to work.. until they realized someone else was following them now. The mage couldn’t look over their shoulder without seeming suspicious, so they used the moths to peek every now and then. The Someone was wearing a cloak with the hood pulled low over the face, and made all the same turns they made. Two rights, one left, still there. Rats. They needed to do something. Harrow took another left, ducking into a less crowded row and finding an unattended market tent. They watched their pursuer come closer, hurrying down the narrow street. What should they do? Stay quiet and hide here, hope they weren’t noticed and cornered? Ambush whoever it was? That could cause some problems, but they could also get rid of the threat before it could be a problem…
Harrow went with the second option. As the cloaked person hurried past the tent, they reached out and grabbed their arm, pulling the person into the stall and shoving them into a display of vegetables. The poor cabbages never stood a chance.
“Why are you following me??” Harrow demanded, knife at the ready.

(431)

Vilas

He gasped, stifling a surprised yelp as he stole a look at the knife being pointed at him. With the wind knocked out of his lungs and foul curses clenched between his gritted teeth, Vilas stared at the blade, and for a fleeting moment he all but assumed his sudden assailant to be yet another mistaken colleague of his - or he would've, had it not been for the unexpected question that made him freeze still.

 "Wait wait wait-" He whispered hurriedly, eager to slip away before his actual problem would catch up to him or worse, he'd get entangled with someone else's. Lifting his eyes from the knife, his bewilderment was swiftly exchanged for something else though, but not any less surprising - recognition.

A wry smile tugged at his lips, full of disbelief just like the perplexed scoff that accompanied it. "Harrow? That- that was your name, was it not? From the Snapdragon last... year? Winter? My, time flies."

He glanced at a moth that fluttered by, stopping to listen to the commotion outside the empty stall, his breathing shallow. He was distracted even when his gaze returned to Harrow.

"Pleasure, were it any other time," Vilas stared up at them as he silently ushered Harrow to put that knife away, taut like a violin’s string. "I don't know what the hell you are on about, so if you'll excuse me-" He murmured, but his words were cut short by a voice of another.

"And who are you?"

Oh, fucking hell.

(251)

Harrow

Bemused, they lowered the knife slightly as they recognized him. “Oh. It’s you.” It had been a while. Well, their question still applied- why was Vilas following them? Harrow frowned; they really shouldn’t have told him their actual name..

The mage nearly jumped out of their skin when a loud voice spoke right behind them. “Aah!” Acting on reflex in a heartbeat, they swung a fist, turning in the same motion—and punched the man standing there square in the nose. Bright green cloak, silver Witchfinder pin at the clasp. Fuck.
Clutching at his nose, the man fell backwards, halfway out of the tent. Harrow’s attention returned to Vilas, a little wild-eyed. “Nice to see you too. What the fuck is—actually. Uh.” No time for talking. The Witchfinder was getting up again, swearing, and another man had joined him; an identical pin caught the sunlight. “Uh..” Head swiveling between the Witchfinders and Vilas and the rest of the tent, they finally took action:
They grabbed a big basket of radishes and chucked it at the Witchfinders. And then they swatted aside the fabric of the back of the tent and ran, ignoring the shouting. “Come on!” Vilas had better be following them, they weren’t going to wait.

(207)

Vilas

He had never been one for dithering and this time was no different. Vilas bolted after Harrow, leaving his newest pursuer dumbfounded after the man's hand slipped right through his hood’s fabric in a ripple of unseen magic. The mage didn't stop to sneer over his shoulder in the middle of lackluster escape, but oh, it did tempt him. Hare-brained asses both of them - or so he could only hope.

Harrow was easy to spot outside the tent, but gods forbid if they weren't fast. Heart racing and earlier frustration making way for that old curiosity he’d regarded the other mage with, Vilas followed them, wordlessly wondering where they might lead them. He could hear the Witchfinders running after them, their steps heavy over the cobblestone and yells full of venom for the blue-eyed one’s bleeding nose.

And bruised egos, those too.

A seller shrieked as the two mages dashed through their corner stall to gain some distance to the two men demanding them to stop. "You really didn't have a plan beyond- beyond this, did you?" Vilas called out to Harrow, the usual hound's grin tugging at his lips, its tenseness betraying his distaste for their little situation.

The narrow paths between stalls and tents weren’t exactly the place for another brawl, nor grand displays of magic.

(218)

Harrow

Welp, they had to use the moths now, no matter the headache; navigating in this place was awful. They tried to parse the whirlwind of color, at the same time keeping track of where their own body was.

“Of course I do!” They called back, sounding much too upbeat for this situation. “It’s ‘not getting arrested’. Right turn!” They made an abrupt turn, skidding a little on the worn cobblestones. They needed more distance. There had to be something useful around here.. The mage scanned their view(s) from above: a jewelry vendor, pottery, clothes, perfumes, carvings, various produce stands and carts.. A cart might do the trick—if it didn’t take to long to move. Or they could find something else to slow the Witchfinders down. Or.. actually, it would be most convenient to use what they already had: moths. Harrow’s headache sharpened a bit more as they arranged for a flock of moths to wind up in just the right place at the right time. The right time being in front of the Witchfinders right as they were turning a corner. The right place; right in their faces. The men spluttered and swatted frantically, the taller of the two managed to elbow the other in the shoulder. Meanwhile Harrow would’ve run into someone had Vilas not pulled them out of the way, so focused were they on ensuring the moths stayed where they wanted. “Sorry! —Uh.. keep going. Looks like there’s a market square a few streets ahead. Go left.” They kept their sentences short, obviously distracted. “See if we can blend in with the crowd.”

(267)

Vilas

Vilas couldn't help but scoff in conflicted amusement. "Sure," He exhaled over the sputtering coughs behind them and the curses that soon followed. For all the trouble Harrow had somehow managed to pull him into, at the very least they were doing a pretty okay job at keeping their two eager (and increasingly more furious) pursuers at bay.

But while a mad dash through the labyrinthine district had its own appeal, it was only a matter of time before they would attract more attention or end up crashing into the wrong person. Even still, true sense of danger admittedly felt elusive, the hammering of his heart a result of the unexpected encounter rather than those who were chasing after him and Harrow. At the end of the day he could always rely upon his magic in a pinch, but gods if he didn’t wish not to, especially here.

He made that left turn seamlessly, not daring to slow down in the slightest before they reached that second market square. His hood had slipped back while running through those bustling streets and Vilas hastily pulled it back up before grabbing Harrow by their wrist to bring them to a stop, hushing any objections with a stiff smile and a meaningful nod towards a narrow alley, barely visible from this direction with large banners of a nearby stall obscuring much of it.

"This way, quickly now." He said in a hushed tone, glancing at the fluttering moths with that same curious look from before, clearly thinking about saying something but dismissing it almost instantly, promptly releasing Harrow's wrist instead to grab a shawl from a cart that passed them by and tossing it to them without a word. He couldn't hear nor see much in this crowd, but neither should his supposed colleagues.

(301)

Harrow

They shot Vilas a glare, but followed the direction of his nod before they said anything. Harrow squinted, overlooking the well-hidden alley before they spotted it on second glance. Okay, they saw what he was thinking.. The mage rubbed at their wrist after being released- only to have fabric thrown into their hands a moment later. They stared at it. Light blue was not their color. “Fine,” they grumbled (a little resentfully), and made to put on the shawl. A tad awkward while in a hurry and a crowd. That done, they pushed ahead of Vilas, not running but still keeping up a brisk walk. Would a shawl be enough to hide them in the crowd? It didn’t seem like it.

Even once they reached the alley they kept up the quick pace. “Did we lose them?” Where had their moths gotten to? That was one disadvantage of clustering them, less coverage… Still walking, Harrow turned their head to look back. Some sort of commotion in the square behind Vilas. “Hurry up, I don’t thi—“ WHAM.

What they would piece together a minute later was that someone had opened a door into the narrow alley—but in the moment, there was abruptly an unseen Object occupying the space they had been about to. And, terribly inconveniently for them, it was very solid. The ground was also very solid, they found, and Vilas suddenly much taller.

(234)

Vilas

<"Patrons help us both,"> Vilas muttered under his breath in Nymenian as he knelt down to check on Harrow. He too had stolen a look behind them, and the sudden eruption of disgruntled voices promised nothing but trouble. Alas, he didn't flee (couldn't, really), merely snapped his fingers a few times to get those confused grey eyes to focus.

The only lucky thing about this whole circus was him having stopped just in time to see Harrow bonk their head to the door and fall to the ground, instead of kicking the poor fellow on top of it all. It could've made them jump up faster, though.

"Earth calling, see any stars still? No? Good, we better-" He exhaled with faint relief as Harrow came to, much to the curious laundress' delight who peeked at them both from behind the open door, and likely would've showered Harrow in apologies, had it not been for the two Witchfinders barging into the alleyway right then. The heavily cloaked men looked exhausted, their faces reddened and frustrated beyond measure. Well, the feeling was certainly mutual, and between the woman's shrill cry and the two men's sharp threats, Vilas yielded.

As a suspected mage in their eyes already, he might as well, right? His identity though, that he'd keep to only Harrow and himself.

"You two, you stay right there!"

"Inhale and hold your breath," Vilas whispered, on his knees still as he grabbed Harrow by the wrist once more, not letting go this time despite their apparent confusion.

And with a blink they were gone.

It was some twenty, maybe thirty, suffocating seconds later that they found themselves on a totally different street and the harbor only a stone's throw away. They had walked there, invisible and silent even as they'd passed right through a room filled with people - scribes likely, busy at their desks - with Vilas leading Harrow by their formless hand, leaving their pursuers confused, and the two mages able to catch their breath. Literally, as the spell broke just as suddenly as it had enveloped them both. In a hush the world around them returned to its usual colors and shapes, their bodies intact bar the lungs hungry for air.

(370)

Harrow

The dazed mage stared at his slightly-blurry hand, teeth gritted against the pain. That would leave a heck of a bruise, surely. They’d pushed themself up on their elbows to a sitting position when they were so rudely interrupted by the Witchfinders. Again. “Oh, great. Ow,” Harrow grumbled under their breath. It wasn’t like they could go anywhere, sitting on the cobblestones between the Witchfinders and the door. They needed a minute. Which they didn’t have.

“What..?” They inhaled, but it was mostly for the purpose of scolding him for grabbing their wrist again rather than a result of actually listening to him. ”Hey!” they would have said, except, of course, they were no longer there. Wherever they were at the next moment, they couldn’t speak, couldn’t even breathe. They felt rather than saw Vilas pull them to their feet. What they did see was both strange and familiar; the world shimmered with an uncountable number of colors. They couldn’t stop looking as their unseen companion dragged them off somewhere, the voices of the crowd sounding muted and distant behind them. It was, Harrow thought, like what their moths saw. But while their moths’ eyes saw yellows, greens, blues, and something like purple, now there were reds and oranges of all sorts, and plenty of colors they couldn’t name joining the rainbow woven into the world around them. And they were seeing it through their own eyes, not via a moth. The sheer wonder of it was initially enough to keep them from panicking as they held their breath, and they walked right through a building. But quickly the urge to take a breath grew; they hadn’t been listening to Vilas earlier. They needed air. They couldn’t breathe..

And then, everything stopped. The world was abruptly duller and noisier, and the air they gasped smelled of the sea. Their gulp of air quickly turned into a cough. “Enough. with. the. fuckin’. grabbing!” They wheezed, shaking off Vilas’ grasp- they could see him again. “What the fuck- w-was—“ More coughing, sending new moths fluttering up into the air.

(347)

Vilas

He let go of them readily, taking a moment to just watch Harrow gather their bearings. Using his magic so suddenly, and for so long despite their company's surprise and consequent lack of air, was admittedly pushing it a little bit even for their much needed escape, but this malady of his was good for little else. Well, save for spying and lurking perhaps.

"Easy there. Just a little trick to throw the dogs off our trail," Vilas responded with a smirk, the adrenaline high leaving him breathless and seemingly unconcerned in the face of Harrow's accusations. He didn't notice something dropping from the folds of his waist sash, something small and metallic that was left glinting on the ground as he watched the moths flutter around.

But with a moment to breathe came creeping stillness, the tension neither had been able to address in favor of escaping the two Witchfinders' grasp and a likely beating. Rubbing the back of his neck Vilas took a step, then another to circle Harrow slowly, stopping in front of them to loom over them. He lacked a knife of his own, but his voice was as sharp as any blade, much like the moth-spitting mage's had been back at the stall.

With the sprawling harbor to his back, he pried coldly, "So, Harrow... Care to enlighten me in return what you were on about? Me, following you? Now why in Fortune's name would I do that?" His smile remained, but whether it was friendly or not was impossible to say. "Though I won't fault an old friend for wanting to say a quick hello, but the throwing around was quite unnecessary, no, hm?" His lip curled at the word.

(286)

Harrow

It took them a minute to process their surroundings (and to stop coughing) but they worked out that they had wound up near the harbor, in one of the older districts. Not too far from the Mar, actually; Harrow could glimpse the tops of dusty sandstone buildings in the distance. It would be safer to head there, regardless of whether or not they were still being pursued. No Witchfinder would dare follow them in there. Unfortunately Vilas showed no sign of wanting to keep moving just then.

That was some ‘little trick’. “Uh-huh. Thanks. Little more warning next time.” They were honestly grateful for his help, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t grumble about the methods.
The moths caught a glimpse of movement and a glint of reflected light as something fell from the young man’s sash. Hah, maybe the Witchfinders were after him for illicit market goods too. They were too busy being indignant to pay much attention at first, though a couple moths unobtrusively drifted down to investigate.

They got the implication from his tone but- “If you count one night having drinks together as being friends you need to rethink some things.” Harrow scowled and bounced a moth off the side of his head—it could’ve been mistaken as the bumbling flight of an ordinary moth, but it was very intentional on their part.
“I didn’t know it was you. There was a Witchfinder following me.” While Harrow was focused on Vilas the moths drawn to the fallen metal object were busy poking around. They weren’t good at seeing details, but as they walked over it the shape became clearer in their mind’s eye. “I tried to lose him, then some other guy in a cloak showed up and made all the same turns as I did—what was I supposed to think? ’Oh, I’m sure this fellow whose face I can’t see is completely harmless and only wants to hand out pamphlets.’ Give me a break. For all I knew you were another Witchfin…” The metal curved this way, there was a pointy bit here, some embossed bits there… They had seen two pins like it not even five minutes ago.

Scattering the insects, they put the toe of their shoe on the Witchfinder pin, pinning it to the ground. “You dropped something, Vilas.” If that was even his name. Moths fluttered back towards them, a small but growing cloud. “I think you’ve got some explaining to do, kid.” No overt threats, but though their tone was even, it was just as sharp as his had been.

(429)

Vilas

At first he merely raised a brow at Harrow's sharpening voice and the knife to his throat it presented. A figurative one this time, but for how long? Or rather, why? One glimpse at their feet was all it took for Vilas to find his answer, the sight of the damning pin unexpected enough to make his smile fall completely. When did he-?

What it left in its wake was a quiet look, calculating and wary if there ever was one, his shoulders tensing ever so discreetly as if to retort, maybe even strike- only for him to roll his eyes with a faint huff.

"My bad?" He hummed with a returning smile, his surprise easily hid behind a relaxed look as he eyed the gathering moths almost amusedly. He couldn't call them threatening, not exactly, but Harrow's boot didn't budge, the message loud and clear. Well, suppose some antagonism was to be expected from someone on the run still. It did explain the rough treatment too, for sure.

"But mm... What for, I wonder? It seems to me we shared the same enemy just now, nevermind how that came to be," He dared to sneer, just a little bit, coy rather than mocking as he stood his ground. "You're a mage, and so am I, evidently. Let's just say that I didn't care to wear that thing for a reason, so let me ask you this instead... What could you possibly benefit from knowing more than that?"

He was teetering a fine line with his ever more tantalizing tone, "If it's a question of whether or not you should strike me, I'd advise against that. I feel rather worn."

(280)

Harrow

Harrow watched him with narrowed eyes and a scowl, noting the brief change in expression on the man’s face. He was quick to relax again.

’We shared the same enemy just now.’ They stared at him disbelievingly. How naive did he think they were? “So? Mages fight mages all the time. There’s plenty o’ mage Witchfinders. With that badge you’re just the same as the rest o’ them.” Knife. Their knife was right there. They could just take it and— Harrow ignored their first instincts, born of training, repetition, and experience. “I could benefit plenty.” They would not solve this with violence. They didn’t have to solve this with violence.
Well, until Vilas opened his mouth again.

Losing what little patience they had, Harrow seized the collar of his shirt. “Cut the crap. Give me a good reason why I shouldn’t. A real reason.” Tiger moths condensed in the air between them, garish reds and yellows a warning of sorts.

(160)

Vilas

"Because I'd be missed?" He chuckled, exhaling as his heart skipped a beat at the palpable threat of violence. "Because I think my role might benefit others than those I answer to?"

Even he didn't believe the first claim. Nothing was enough to make it true for long, he'd come to learn, sweet words and ardent promises easily forgotten the tighter his leash became. The second was but a possibility, a stray idea he had found himself preoccupied with the more he found himself despising said leash. Freedom wasn't for the likes of him, but he could use an... extension of ownership, were things to continue to stagnate with the research in Namarast.

Beyond that, fuck that slim possibility of the Cabinet asking him to return to Nymene with Ivras' political climate becoming increasingly chaotic.

The brilliant moths kept fluttering around them in a whirlwind of colors, and Vilas hissed in a low voice, "It is not the Order, you know," before slipping from Harrow's grip, passing through their hand with his neck unraveling before their eyes, "- but it wasn't me who told you such nonsense, alright?"

He didn't give them a warning this time as he stepped right through Harrow's shoulder, only smirking softly when he turned around to face them again with his body reformed in a blink, his earlier point made clear; he had no doubts about Harrow being more than capable of harming him, but what an arduous ordeal it would be for them both.

"I'm here to see the Mar, how's that? Pleasant atmosphere, curious people, nothing there not to love," The mage listed flatly, waving his hand a little to keep the moths off of his face. Whether or not he was being serious now, was up for Harrow to guess. "Does that sound better?"

(301)

Harrow

They rolled their eyes at the first suggestions, but didn’t know what to make of the cryptic revelation. It had the ring of truth to it but they wouldn’t know where to start- ‘not the Order’ could be.. anything, really. “I don’t know.” It was something at least. Harrow’s gaze went from his face to his neck as they lost their grip, somewhat alarmed. The mage flinched as Vilas stepped through them. Fuck that. They hated seeing that, and the lack of any sensation to connect to it. They made a few more moths fly into his head after he reformed to make up for it.

“…” Their eyes narrowed, calculating whether or not a punch would actually land. He was right; they would tire out. Probably faster than his magic would. They couldn’t fight him.. but maybe they could find some other solution.
Does that sound better? “Not especially,” they grumbled. Although it actually did now that they thought about it; the Mar was where they’d planned on returning to begin with, and they knew how Sangre Mar usually dealt with Witchfinders. “..But I’m sure my friend would be thrilled to meet a Witchfinder.” They were hopeful that Enn could devise some way to teach this guy a lesson. And that they would be in the room for it. Watching him terrify the Witchfinders who dared to intrude was maybe more cathartic than it should be.

“You’re coming with me. Don’t try anything.”

(244)

Vilas

"Oh? Inviting yourself along now?" Vilas smirked with raised brows, his genuine surprise hidden somewhere between his relaxed teasing and unwanted friendliness. That, and the cold shiver the unspoken threat sent up his spine.

It made sense that Harrow would be familiar with the notorious district, being a wanted criminal and all that. Why he had assumed otherwise, Vilas couldn't say, apart from finding Harrow's current situation far less interesting than everything they had kept quiet on the last time they met. Seemed like that was about to change, though.

He glanced at Harrow, before nabbing the pin from the ground with an unseen hand, swiftly pocketing it again with a lopsided grin, welcoming the promise of further vetting and the inherent risk in it. "Why, lead the way then. I reckon the feeling will be mutual." If there was no convincing them, perhaps he'd fare better with this mysterious 'friend'. He was anything but their enemy, after all.

He was nothing if not compliant as he tagged along, merely replying in amusement to every gesture and word of distaste his companion showed him as they left the harbor behind together.

(191)