Stroke of Luck

It was a cold winter night in Faline, the chill chasing the denizens from the streets hours ago as the moon took its place in the sky. Small snowflakes fluttered from the clouds above, only to melt the moment they touched cobblestone.

His breath billowed from his lips, his collar turned up against the cold and long cloak wrapped tightly around his body as he took long, sweeping steps down the alleyway. With a hat pulled low over his golden eyes and chin tucked to his collar, there was no telling who the black-cladden man was as he stalked through the shadows.

He relished in the late, quiet nights, when he managed to slip from the manor. Each time, he threatened his freedom - or the lack thereof - especially when he had had too much to drink. But he pulled a golden coin out of his pocket and flipped it in the air once, catching it and turning it into the moonlight as he studied it with a curling grin.

It was a rare coin, crafted in Siregal before the times of the civil war. The man who had possessed it before was awfully loud about what he had to wager, and Basileios took him for a fool at the table. Pure luck, it was, as he had never been very good at cards, but none were the wiser when he had slid his winning hand across the table and winked at the shocked look that crossed the balding man’s face.

It was nice to get out and stretch his legs, play his games again, pretend that all was right in the world; for he knew that he would be met by nothing but disappointment and empty bottles when he returned to his dark room. But for now, he mused with a deep, calming breath, the cold was exhilarating.

Tucking the coin back in his pocket, he pulled his cane out from the crook of his arm, and just as it clicked against the ground, he felt… something rustling at his side.

Raising his arm, he whipped around with his cane in full swing, aiming for the knees of whoever dared to get close enough to ruffle his coat. There was a surprised - and painful - cry from whoever it was as they fell to the ground, and Basileios wasted no time shoving the butt of his cane into their chest to keep them pinned to the ground. And as he leaned forward, digging his cane into their ribs, his brow pinched at the sight of-

A kid?

He lifted his gaze, ignoring the fearful whimpers from the boy pinned beneath his cane, and scanned the alleyway. Apart from the shadows, there was not a single place this kid could have been hiding. And he hadn’t even heard him sneak up…

“Are you a mage?” He asked, turning his attention back to the kid as he loomed over him, his free hand tipping his hat from his eyes to get a better look at him. He had long, ratty blonde hair and wide silver eyes. His face was littered with freckles, his skin a dappled caramel.

Or maybe that was the dirt.

“N-no! I swear it!” The kid gasped, hands wildly shaking as he gripped the cane and tried to pull it off, but was no match against the man’s weight.

Basileios’ lips twisted with suspicion. There was no way this kid could sneak up on him without the aid of magic. No one snuck up on him, let alone a kid who looked, what, twelve? Thirteen? There was no way he was a day older than fifteen, for sure. Oh, but he was certainly a kid who knew the streets, perhaps a little too well. He could tell by his clothes and accent.

He stroked the coin in his pocket, worrying the corner of his lip as he watched the squirming boy beneath his cane. “Name?”

The boy stilled, gritting his teeth together in false bravery despite the way his eyes were still the size of the moon itself.

“Name.” Basileios prompted again, pushing his cane harder against his ribs.

“Calix.” The kid finally spat, his face twisting in discomfort and terror. “Just… Just Calix.”

“How old are you?”

“Four-" He could hardly breathe "-fourteen.”

Basileios nodded, confirming his own suspicions. Well, he hadn’t been far off. After another moment of contemplation, he slowly removed the pressure of his cane from the kid’s - no, Calix’s - chest.

Calix scrambled to his feet, his silver eyes shifty as he contemplated running, but shuffled his feet together at the glint in the man’s eye. Oh, he was in trouble. “‘m sorry, sir, you weren’ who I was espectin’.” He lied through his teeth, shaking hands fumbling for his tattered brown vest and tucking into his pockets. It was obvious that he was cold, from the scraps he wore. His pants had more holes than this kid had sense, and the shoes he wore were two days away from crumbling right off of his feet.

Oh, and he was small. Not just short - which he definitely was - but he looked like a twig hanging off of a winter tree. When was the last time he had a real meal? Suddenly, he was feeling bad for how hard he had shoved his cane into his ribs.

Basileios covered the hilt of his cane with both hands, leaning against it slightly as he arched his brow in dangerous curiosity. “And who were you expecting?”

Calix frowned, his breath catching in his throat as he weighed his answer. In fact, he was exactly who he was expecting. A rich man wandering home after a night of gambling with the scent of alcohol on his breath? Well, most were not as… crafty.

“The slower types.” Was all he could offer, and Basileios scoffed.

“So you were trying to steal from me.”

“Well, yeah.”

“You’re a terrible thief.”

Calix set his jaw straight, despite the fear that was still prominent in his gaze. “I do a’ight.”

Basileios couldn’t remember the last time he had smiled. And perhaps he wasn’t truly smiling now, but there was a quirk to his lips that was at least… amused. This was, by far, the best entertainment he’d had since being banished to his room like a misbehaving princess.

“Well. I’m sure you’ve heard of the Veres house.” He started, his smirk growing at the recognition that flickered across the boy’s face. He didn’t even have to offer his first name, for it had been all over the streets. The papers. This kid knew exactly who he was. “If you need a job, you know where we are.”

Surprise crossed Calix’s face, his eyes narrowing with mixed emotions. Was this a trick? It felt like a trick. A tempting trick... He certainly was desperate.

Basileios filled the silence with a shake of his cane, poking the kid in the chest again. “But for now, run along.” He prompted, nodding his head as a gesture for him to leave. “I don’t need a thief following me home in the dark.”

And run Calix did, turning on his heels and darting down the uneven cobblestone. And even as he fled, his steps were near silent. And, gods, he was fast.

Basileios huffed to himself in approval before turning, his hand wrapping around the coin in his pocket and holding it tightly the rest of the way home.