Young Writers Society

The truth was that he did, every single day, but something told him that revealing his unorthodox heritage to this man was unwise, so he simply shook his head. "N-no sir, not really."

He frowned, then raised an eyebrow. "You can drop the sir," he said, shifting the bat from one shoulder to the other. "I'm not that old."

Cornyx simply nodded and made a quiet apology in reply, looking as non-threatening as humanly possible.

The silence was deafening. Beyond the gusts of wind and gentle pitter-patter of rain, Lasan couldn't hear anything else but his own breathing and his own heartbeat. And both were gradually getting more ragged with time.

"Why are you here?" Lasan said, voice a little unsteady. "And what do you want? If it's for me to open this door, you're out of luck."

He sighed, grabbing his backpack and placing it on the first surface he could find - a very dusty windowsill - and began to dig through its contents. While he could understand Cornyx's need for the frequent apologies and overall quiet demeanor, what he really needed was someone who was ready to curse their fate with him. Since it looked like people like that were in short supply, he would have to make do with a good drink instead.

Resting his bat up against the wall, he cracked open a green bottle with his bare hands and took a swig of its contents. The label had long ago faded, though the liquid inside appeared to be dark. He gulped down every last drop before licking his lips and popping the bottle back in his bag.


His grip on the strength potion bottle loosened. The mob was talking - a good sign. Now all he to do was convince him that he was a good person, which was probably going to be the hard part in all of this.

"I don't why I'm here," he replied, letting another yawn slip free. He was tired, but he wasn't going to let himself fall asleep now. He could do that later. "I woke up right when you darted inside that building - you're the only person I've seen so far. I thought you might have some answers. And if you didn't, I thought it would be nice to have some company."

Cornyx watched him silently, still unsure of where he stood. He could feel the chill beginning to permeate the air around him and he tried to pull it back despite his fear and disorientation. He was careful to remain appearing silent and submissive - he didn't want to be perceived as a threat, or a man with anything this "Dean" could want.

He slipped the backpack on again, grabbing his bat from where it stood and resting it against his shoulder. He looked at Cornyx and let out a heavy sigh. Why did he keep trying to pretend when it was so obvious?

He took several steps towards Cornyx until they were only a foot or two apart. "Let's get something straight," he said, looking into Cornyx's eyes. "I know you're not human. And as long as you don't do anything bad, I don't care. If you do happen to hurt someone or do something particularly evil, my bat will meet your face. Good? Good."

He turned around and started to head towards the door. "Now that we've gotten that taken care of, let's go and find out who brought us here."

Cornyx's countenance was largely unreadable, though the temperature certainly wasn't getting any warmer when Dean confronted him. There was something about the way he held himself that indicated not only guardedness but a certain amount of being accustomed to such situations - though if the chill was anything to judge by, he was more on edge than usual.

He obediently fell in behind Dean with a short "yes, sir."

"Because stalking people is a great way to have company," Lasan said. "What answers were you expecting from me? I don't know where I am or how I got here, and it's too" - he paused and wondered if he should mention he was cold; that'd probably give the guy ammo - "dark to see anything." Lasan sneezed again.

He gave himself a minute. A minute to stay down here, and then'd make his way back up, dangerous guy or not. Not that it'd be much better up there, but at least it'd be tolerable. On the other hand, an idea popped into his mind.

"Can I ask a strange question?" Lasan said. "Do you have a spare shirt, or pants, or something? If you could just push it under the door, I might trust you more."

That was one of the few things that he didn't carry in his bag, though it was something that had come up several times in the past. He started to shake his head, only to realize that the mob would be unable to see it. "I don't have any spare clothes on me," he said. He looked down at his outfit, then back up. It wasn't too cold, was it? "Actually, I could probably let you borrow my coat for a bit. I'm not sure how well it would fit, but it would be something."

He placed the strength potion down on the ground, planning on returning to his bag after he handed the mob his coat. But as he went to remove his jacket, his elbow bumped into the potion - spilling it all over him and the floor.

"Oh horse manure," he muttered, trying to shake it off and touch the broken shards. The damage, unfortunately, had been done. He could already feel the potion kicking in, which meant he would have to do everything very, very carefully.

He gently folded his coat up and slowly slipped it under the door.


He was going to object to the honorific, but realized that it was pointless - Cornyx was just going to go back to using them again. Sighing, he exited the building and scanned the streets for any signs of life.

Cornyx winced a little as they stepped outside, squinting against the bright light. Of all the times he could've gotten drunk. . .

Lasan heard the coat as it landed beneath the doorframe, resting between the two barrels. He also heard the sound of something shattering on the ground, as well as the man's swearing. A strange scent also lingered in the air, almost totally masked by the mold and whiskey. Lasan's eyes narrowed.

Rising up and walking across the cellar, Lasan headed up the stone steps and picked up the coat. He stuck out his tongue so that it hovered an inch or two from the fabric. Nope, the strange smell wasn't on it. It appeared to be perfectly normal, if a little small (like everything else he wore). Besides, after a sneeze that almost knocked him off the stairs, he figured it wasn't like he had much other choice.

Unbuttoning and slipping off his overcoat, he squeezed the smaller one on. When he fit the larger one over it, he sat down on the steps, resting his head against one of the barrels. He felt warmer now; when he sneezed again, it wasn't as bad.

"My name's Lasan," he said. He trusted the man that much, though he still wouldn't open the door. "And you're...Zalio, right?"

He nodded, trying his best not to make any sudden movements that would become exponentially worse with the effects of the strength potion in play. What was perhaps the most daunting about this situation was the fact he had never actually used it before - he had kept it around just in case, but this was the first time he had even contemplated using it.

"My name is Zalio," he confirmed, carefully resting his head up against the wall behind him. "I'm one of Hero's chosen. Have you heard of him before?"


After staring at the muddy streets, he finally found what he had been looking for - footprints. They were admittedly bigger than what he had expected to see, but it looked like they weren't alone. He readied his bat and began to follow them.

Lasan blinked. "Could you say that again?" he said, pulling himself up and pressing the nearest ear hole against the door. His straw hat bent at an awkward angle, but he ignored it. "A hero, or literally just Hero? And what does he choose them for?"

The scent of other people hits his nose as they approach the footprints. His eyes flash silver momentarily, instinct taking hold for a split second before he shoves it back down.