|Rohan Kelsier|
Rohan snored contentedly on the pile of hay he had found particularly appeasing the night before. Sunlight filtered through the wooden planks above his head, splattering bursts of light on his bare skin. A fly buzzed lazily around his face. Next to him, a pig nuzzled his shoe. He smacked his lips and shifted deeper into the itchy hay, then rolled onto his side and scratched his thigh. He did not notice when a shadow blocked his sunlight.
He was woken with a start, lukewarm water splashing and running down his chest. He gasped and sputtered, reaching blindly for his dagger and scrambling to stand. Cold steel pressed against his neck and he froze. He raised his gaze, looking from underneath his sopping wet head scarf.
"What's with you and dumping things on people?" he said, begrudgingly relaxing when Solak put her sword away with a smirk.
"You're making the stables smell worse than they already are," she said.
"Well, whose fault is that, miss? You're the one that likes wasting perfectly good beverages." He attempted to swipe the excess water off of him, but only managed to smear his hands with mud. He shook them.
She raised an eyebrow, snorting through her nose. "That ale was crap. It suited you well. I'd say you're lucky I didn't want to have to clean any blades. It would've been mighty unfortunate for you to get hurt over an insult." She gave him a venomously sweet smile.
"Aye, yeah, mighty unfortunate, but 'cha got your morals to worry about, eh?" He replied. He patted his waist, checking various objects to make sure they were still there. "I think, after all of this harassment, that you at least owe me some protection while I go wash that dried ale off at the stream. You don't know what kind of harm can fall to a humble merchant, such as myself."
"I thought you didn't need protection," she snapped. She wished she had some more ale to dump on him.
"I don't need many things, miss, but yet here I am, and here you are." Satisfied that nothing was missing from his sash, he began to saunter away, and when he stepped into the full daylight he flinched and held his hand to his eyes.
She hesitated in the door of the stables. She had no reason to follow this person, and frankly, he grated on her nerves. But there was something about him. He was bizarre, yes, and probably transgressed most laws, but from time to time, there would be a flash of something she felt she recognized. Drawn by curiosity, she followed him outside.
"Only because the men from yesterday might still be here."
As Rohan tugged the scarf down over his eyes, his lips twitched. They walked mostly in silence, Rohan stretching his arms, back, and neck the whole way, and birds twittering above them. People moved about, paying them no mind. They cut down a well worn dirt path into a thick patch of woods where the music of water over rocks grew stronger. The line of trees ended abruptly at the jagged edge of a stream, where black rocks jutted out like a seared scar. With little hesitation Rohan untied his sash, and with it his pants, heading towards the edge of the water.
Solak blinked once, twice, then turned away with a roll of her eyes. "The polite thing to do is to warn people when you're about to do that, particularly women."
The water splashed as Rohan entered it, and there was the clinking of metals as he tossed his jewelry onto his pile of clothes. "Bah, we're always naked. Didn't figure a female knight would be fretting about sex roles."
"This female knight doesn't want to see anyone naked, be they male or female." She retorted, leaning against a tree.
He didn't reply, but instead focused on scrubbing. He glistened like a seal, his brown skin shining under the grit that clung to him, and he stooped down low enough to dip his head in the water. He vigorously clawed the sand from his black hair, and emerged with it clinging to his forehead. He cupped his hands and sipped.
When he glanced back up again, figures gathered on the opposite shore. Rohan wouldn't have thought much of it, except that they carried swords and wooden axes. And that they had started to furiously wade their way towards him.
He let the water in his hands fall and he turned and sprinted for his clothes. The noise of splashing water increased behind him. Gathering his garb in his arms (taking care to tuck his sash and jewelry safely to his chest) he bolted past Solak and down the path. She started behind him, calling his name, then began to run behind Rohan.
"Those are the guys from last night? They're still after your stuff?"
"Well," Rohan said between huffs, "not exactly my stuff, if you want to be technical about it."
"What?"
"You think you could save this chit-chat for later, miss?"
"I can run and talk." She retorted. "You mean I stopped them from getting their stuff back?"
"More or less."
The small inn emerged in front of them, and Rohan veered towards a cart that seemed to be falling apart at the seams. Pots and pans hung from a rope with hooks and clinked together in the wind, and sprouts of plants swayed through holes cut out of the top. Colorful fabrics draped across the canvas, wind chimes sang from string tied in the back, and rucksacks that weighted down with goods were tied to the front. Next to it, a sleeping mule rested. When it heard them approaching, it started and whinnied in distress.
Rohan tossed his bundle into a slit in the cart and began to quickly hook the mule into her harness. He whispered a few things into her ear, as if consoling her, then jumped on to the small wooden bench behind her.
Solak ran past him, making for the stables. As she neared the door, she slowed. They were after Rohan, not her. She didn't need to run away. The sound of steps in the streets quickly changed her mind. She yanked open the door and grabbed her gelding's reins, swiftly mounting him and riding out into the street. Solak was glad she had been ready to leave before Rohan had drawn her away.
The angry mob of men were rounding the inn. Solak spurred her horse to Rohan's cart, which lurched forward with surprising velocity. Rohan, in all of his naked glory, held an extended pair of reins in one hand, and wielded a crossbow in the other, and stood on the bench as his mule charioted away. He was singing a rather colorful song about the men's mothers and sisters, and as he laughed when the men began to throw their swords at them, Solak was again struck with a feeling of familiarity.
Finishing his song, he plopped back down on the stool and steered the mule out of the small town. Solak quickly caught up with the fleeing cart, riding up next to him. Seeing as the men didn't think that they would need horses, the two escaped easily enough, only knocking over a vegetable stand and a man carrying a sack of flour in the process.
"So, miss, how's it feel to be on the other side of the spectrum?"
She scowled at him. "I'm not there."
He cackled. "Sure, you're not, miss."
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