POV Snippets: A scene from the past 2/3 - Reed

Years into the future, once Alcide recalls how he hurried out of the Academy like an overeager dog with its tongue hanging out the second he received the examination certificate, he will be filled with enough shame to leave him cringing at the memory.

For now, though, occupied with his rancor and indignation, he pours himself into a simple task of storming the sizable halls of the Alven’s National Art Gallery in the direction of the sole purpose of his visit - Caelan MacGavin, Flavio’s friend and a former mercenary.

Everyone is a former mercenary these days, huh? At least Caelan didn’t sell himself as a government's patsy. He might not be a five nor afflicted at all, but Alcide can bet his head that Caelan’s resolve is rock solid, and unlike some, he’s not going to take his words back at the earliest opportunity.

“Boyo!” Even without the booming greeting - too loud for the dinky space - the man’s easy to spot, towering like a small mountain amidst the mismatched decor of the storage. “What's the story?”

A warm grin as wide as a 20-lane highway that’s sure to rouse an answering one, today has Alcide’s frown deepening. Because Alcide strongly suspects that Flavio wouldn’t keep Caelan out of the loop about anything involving him, the startled expression of ‘oh shit’ the man sprouts right after the cheerful smile fades is not only far from unexpected but serves as a confirmation, answering all the unvoiced queries that built up on Alcides’ way here.

Out of all people, it seems he was the only one who Flavio fooled. Alcide can’t decide if that stings worse or less. His nausea, though, worsens slightly.

“What did Flavio-”

“Forget about Fl-” Alcide’s voice breaks and he feels his face burn immediately. “Forget about him.”

Fuck knows Alcide won’t be able to. Not after seeing Flavio with a bunch of white-collared motherfuckers he was supposed to hate, laughing and fooling around, having the time of their life right under the entrance to the SPD headquarters.

It was conflicting, at first. After all, Alcide happened to stumble onto the scene by accident. In the span of a second that felt like a year, he went through the ‘no, it can’t be’ and the visual verification that it is indeed possible. Two hours later he can still recall his heart dropping to the bottom of his stomach.

He’s not blind, nor is he stupid; having stayed long enough to reassert himself, he did his research well. Flavio couldn’t have joined recently; he’s an open person but he wouldn’t be this close with the people he just met. If he was drafted, he wouldn’t be taking it lying down.

The conjecture comes easy: he joined of his own volition.

The question is, was he ever going to tell Alcide about it? Of course not. Isn’t it why he was so adamant Alcide called him before coming to see him? If he didn’t hurry up, Alcide would have missed the whole exchange.

What hurts the most, however, besides Flavio’s joining the same fuckers Alcide feared would steal his brother for years, is how light Flavio looked, without the weight of Alcide on his shoulders. For nearly a decade, even before they left Sciola, the only consistent memory of Flavio that Alcide had was an image of a boy - then a young man - always ducking in and out of the place they called home, ‘just so that they wouldn’t catch him, wouldn’t separate them’. What a joke.

It must have been such a burden, having to spend years faking his distaste, inwardly longing to just get rid of Alcide. Of course, the cash is well worth being a fucking puppet. The price of Flavio’s dignity seems to be equal to a hefty paycheck.

So, Flavio made his choice. Alcide will make his. After all, they don’t owe each other anything, much less a heads-up or honesty.

“Oh.” The wide-eyed startlement looks almost silly on such a big and burly man. So do the large hands that carefully set aside the tiny restoration tools. Caelan is a sharp guy, and he has known Alcide since he was a child, helping out in his mother’s kitchen. Which is to say, there’s not much Alcide can hide from him. “Did ya talk? You didn’t, did ya? Wait here I’ll-”

“I need a job.” Alcide grinds out, stepping inside the room fully, barring the entrance with his own body. It wouldn’t do much if Caelan had half a mind of exiting by force, but he’s not that kind of person. “Away from Alven.”

“Shite it’s...” Caelan sighs, scratching his chin through his thick tawny beard. “I’d say I was right but that doesn’t feel any good.”

Despite his neutral tone, he seems to think that Alcide will be willing to discuss the matter further once he cools down. He should know, though, that Alcide is just like Flavio - he can hold a grudge ‘til death, if not longer.

“Is that a yes, or...?”

“Eh, sure, I might know someone who needs a nixer.”

Pulling out a wallet that saw more winters than the man himself, Caelan rummages through its contents for a while. Finally, he retrieves and hesitatingly passes Alcide a fancy name card with a golden inscription that reads ‘Alan Wayats - criminal lawyer’, with the address of the office, and the phone number below.

“Where’s the place?” Alcide’s desperate, and though he’s naturally curious he’s not about to ask why a lawyer needs something done on the side. An opportunity is an opportunity, who cares.

“In Elazar. It’s not a sure thing, but if you’re in a pinch you can give it a leash.” Once again, Caelan’s hand returns to combing his beard. It’s a manner as absent-minded as it is self-soothing; he seems to already regret sharing that detail. “Yer man is up to 90 so he’s hirin’ anyone who comes askin’. Well, not anybody but you can mention my name.”

“All right.”

“Or you could stay here. Look, give it a month and I am sure-” Alcide’s grimace is enough to make Caelan wince and cease with his proposition.

A month is more than enough time for Caelan to run babbling to Flavio, and Alcide has no illusions as to whose friend Caelan really is, who he will prioritize. As it is, he has no doubt his brother will hear about the conversation within an hour or so. It’s better for Alcide to leg it now, while he still can.

“Thanks for the tip.”

“Just be careful, ‘s all I’m sayin’.”

“Will do.”

It’s not like that depends on Alcide, though does it?