"Bullshit," Oli muttered, putting his hand back down, frowning. He placed the first aid kit onto the table that he had been making the bread on and gave a small sigh. The thought of burning the bread, or at least ruining it while it was still dough crossed his mind. After all, Amber-Eyes said that he'd leave when the bread was done, right? So technically, if there was no bread that was done, then he wouldn't leave.
Oli applauded himself on his logic and casually walked away from the boy while he was still working at the sink, went to the oven, and opened it up. He took the damp towel off of the bread and set the heat up higher than it needed to be, even if the dough was fully risen. In less than an hour, the bread would be nothing but an inedible pile of goo. How unfortunate.
He closed the oven door and turned back around, feeling smug, but then he froze as his eyes landed on a few droplets of blood that had fallen onto the tile floor that were definitely not there before then. He stopped moving and he finally forced himself to actually look at the hooded traveler. He noticed the way that he was cleaning the dishes like it was something, or perhaps one of the only, things that he'd done in his life
Oli knew that just by looks alone, the stranger didn't look like it, but the mannerisms, and where the blood was falling from, were way too familiar from other runaways he's encountered, and even though it was a slim chance, everything besides how Amber-Eyes looked matched up.
"Were you a slave?" he whispered, feeling an equal amount of undiluted guilt and rage, at himself and at the people this person was running away from. Oli had just ruined some perfectly good bread out of stubborn selfishness and denied Amber-Eyes a meal, something that he probably hadn't had in a long time. And how could anyone do something so terrible to another person? They were all human; why did they have to treat some of them as inferior and unequal, just because of their background? Oli's hands clenched into fists by his side, and he didn't care or even feel the hot, stinging pain as his nails dug through the gauze.
Cyris blinks, looking uo, "What?" He stared at Oli, tensing more and then sighs rubbing his forehead, "Well. . . Pretty much." He shrugs, "Not a typical slave. I had a room fit for a prince, as well as clothes. Good food. Three meals a day." He sighs, "The cleaning, I never actually cleaned in my life, besides the chores to clean up around my adoptive dads home." Cyris supposed he should shut uo, but the boy was probably already on deaths row anyways.
"But I'm a bastard nobody who became an assassin. The best in the society." He sighs, "I was offered a job by Silo, and my father told me to accept and I did. So at the age of fourteen, I was sent away from home to be the right hand of a Red Lord. Well, it went to shit. My parents died when I was two, and I don't look like they want me to look, so I was treated like shit. Never paied. I ran away for the first time when I was fifteen. Now, I'm 23 and have ran away 284 times. If I'm caught, 500 lashings, all spread out over about 2 weeks so.I don't die."
He sighs, shrugging, "I've said to much." He turns back around, closing his eyes and letting out a slow, pained breath before finding a clean rag and wiping the counters 100% clean in just a few swipes.
Now, he needed to find somewhere safe to hide, take the weapons off and rest, which shouldn't be too hard. "The only reason I started running was because the way the society treats people. They called me a slave, but I was usually free to do as I wanted as long as I did the one thing I'm good at." He looks up meeting Oli's gaze, "Killing the innocent people that get in their way of a bloody rule."
Oli stared at the boy in front of him, not in a million years expecting so much information out of him. He didn't know what a 'Red Lord' was, but from what he was just told, they were a bad person. He slumped against the wall next to him, unclenching his fists as he tried to process the information he was given and find the right words to respond.
So the guy standing before him was a few years older than him, and he was an assassin who was also a slave. If he got caught, then he would be whipped. 500 times. Oli's eyes were filled with a deep sadness that he had never felt before as he held the gaze of those mesmerizing amber eyes. He knew society outside of the protective bubble that he called home was horrible, but he didn't truly realize the extent of how screwed up it was.
He bit his lip, thinking. Rarely was he ever at a loss for words, but he had never heard of a past as tragic as the one Amber-Eyes had. His mind veered off topic momentarily, wondering if the runaway in his home would mind or care if he just referred to him as Amber. He shook his head a bit to focus himself and gathered his thoughts together.
"Well, whether you believe it or not, you are definitely safe here," Oli said quietly. "Me and the other locals around here will make sure of that. In the meantime, you're still injured, and I want to help you. As long as you aren't going to kill me or my uncle, then I don't mind the fact that you were an assassin." He stepped closer to him, reaching for the first aid kit on the table that he had left it on and quickly turning off the oven, ashamed of what he did. "Let me help. Please. I'll give you all the bread and pastries you want if, in return, you'll trust me and see me as a friend."
Oli wondered what had gotten into him, wondered why he was trying so hard to bond with Amber-Eyes. He glanced guiltily at the oven, trying to convince himself that his misdeed was the only reason behind wanting to befriend the person in front of him.
Cyris sighs softly and hesitating, takes off his jacket and loops it around his waist. Ignoring the hair that fell on his face, he crossed his arms, "Fine. But if one word slips." He says, his voice quiet and soft. And not warm cuddles soft either. It was full of death.
He sighs, looking to the oven, "Just cause you had the guts to burn my food in order to keep me here lo ger, at the risk of your own life, I'll let you help."
He looks at the first aid kit warly, "But if it needs stiches, I'm not getting them." He says stubbornly.
He kicks his booted foot into the ground, silent and waiting.
"Yeah, uh, sorry about that," Oli muttered, looking a bit sheepish. He ignored the implied threat Amber-Eyes gave, knowing that he wasn't going to say a word to anyone, so the threat was useless.
He tried not to stare too much at the flaming red hair that framed the runaway's face, but his admiring gaze stopped abruptly when he saw the broken scabs of the recent whip marks, not to mention the countless other scars marring the rest of his body.
After judging how bad the wounds were, Oli opened up the first aid kit and took out some vials and a large roll of gauze as well as a handful of band-aids. "I don't think you need stitches, thankfully, because I don't know how to do that, but some disinfectant, healing ointments, rest, and not moving a lot would definitely help." He glanced back at the wounds, trying not to grimace. "One of the whip marks looks like it's starting to get infected, but it shouldn't get worse after I'm done with it."
He got out a disinfectant wipe but paused as he approached. He glanced up at that pair of amber eyes that made it difficult to look away. "Just a head's up, this will sting, so just let me know if it hurts too much." Oli was tempted to ask for his name, but he refrained. It was a miracle in itself that he was able to get this close to him to help, and he didn't want to abuse the little bit of trust that he had already gained. He gingerly placed the wipe onto the wounds, being as gentle as he could.
Cyris nods slightly, "I know it's starting to get infected. That's what happens when you can't reach it to clean it." He stays tense, letting out a hiss of pain at the touch is the disinfectant.
He sets his hands on the counter, staying quiet and letting I'll do whatever he needed to do. He don't think he'd have much time to rest though. He didn't know how far behind him his pursuers were, and there was no way he was going to get caught getting someone help him. He didn't want to know what they would do to Oli.
He closes his eyes, relaxing slightly as Oli worked, "If you need something to call me, call me whatever you think fits. I won't be ready to share my real name anytime soon."
Oli was silent for a while as he worked, cleaning out the injuries as best as he could and slathering on all the pain-relieving and healing ointments he had before using the gauze and bandages to secure the wounds. Once he was satisfied with his work, he stood back, going to the sink to clean off his hands.
"I know that you think you need to keep moving and running away so your captors won't find you again, but I'm saying this from experience, you'll get caught a lot quicker that way," he eventually said, drying his hands with a towel after he had rinsed them off. He knew that he should've put some ointment on his own injuries and replaced his bandages, but Amber needed them more and Oli knew that the pain he was experiencing was nothing compared to what the runaway had been through.
He turned around to face him, his gaze settling evenly on those lovely amber eyes. "I've helped more people than I can count to escape similar situations like yours, and each and every one of them insisted that they needed to keep moving. A few days later, word would reach us that they were captured, most of them being killed on sight." He moved over to the table where the medical supplies were scattered all across the surface, and he began to place them all neatly back into the kit, needing to keep his hands busy as he spoke. "The governments- or tyrants, whatever you wish to call them- have always left this town alone. We don't interfere with their affairs, and they don't interfere with ours. That's been an unspoken rule for longer than any of us locals can remember. If you stay put here, especially in one of the secret bunkers that the bakery has, your chances of getting caught will be a lot lower than you leaving." Once he finished packing up the kit, he closed it, but he kept his gaze on the table. Why was he trying so hard to make this person stay? What was so different about him that Oli wasn't able to let him go? "Plus, it'll give you more of a chance to rest and recover your strength, Amber." He finally tested the little nickname he had made for the traveler out loud, wondering if it was okay.
(By the way, I'm probably not going to be incredibly active this week so my replies are going to be pretty inconsistent)
(That's perfectly fine!)
Cyris sighs, "They have these special hounds. My scent will stop here and they will interrogate everyone until they find me. And if someone lies, they'll die. And most of the time, they'll kill just for the sport."
"Trust me, I've tried staying still multiple times. The people who helped me were killed in front of me and I was taken back. I'm not going to let a whole town suffer like that."
Cyris's gaze darkened at the memory. The blood. They had tried to make him kill them, but Chris had refused. He had suffered for that.
The corners of his mouth quirk up slightly in the hints of a smile for the first time in what felt like forever, "Amber?" He tried it out, " O like the sound of that. . . Let me guess, my eyes?" He looks at Oli.
He sighs, taking Oli's wrists as Cyris spoke, looking at his hands, "I didn't have any burns on my back. Do you have a burn ointment? It will help a lot and prevent scarring."
"Well, then we'll just put a bunch of overwhelming, different scents to confuse the dogs, and we'll make you smell entirely different, like of really burnt bread or something, so they won't be able to track you," Oli said stubbornly, refusing to just give up on Amber despite all of the flaws in his plan. He didn't look over just yet, but a small smile appeared on his lips. "Yeah, it's your eyes," he said, chuckling slightly. "They were the first part of you I actually saw, so it seemed fitting."
He finally glanced up again, his pulse jumping a bit when his acquaintance took hold of his wrists. A traitorous blush began to bloom on Oli's face, but he forced himself to stop it before Amber could look up. "There was some burn ointment, but my uncle has it right now since we were helping a large group of refugees at the hotel across the street, and the pots of food we were carrying were pretty hot."
He took his hands out of Amber's grasp, looking down at the ground. "I get burns all the time from baking, it's really not that big of a deal."
Cyris huffs, "Well, if you want to tend to my back, I can't let you use hands forming blisters that can pop at any moment and get the fluids from it into my wounds, now can I?" He takes Oli 's wrists again, his grip still light as he inspects his hands, "But, if you must, take something sharp and put a small-ish hole in the side of the blister and push the fluids out. They'll be sore for a few days, but then they'll heal, you have same nice calluses."
He lets go after a moment, flashing his hand, which had pretty much identical calluses on them. He jumps back to the topic about his eyes, "Well, thanks. I think. They aren't that special. Amber eyes are the thing where I'm from. So, I guess I'm used to it."
Cyris looks at Olis face, examine it closely before giving him a full out grin, "But it's nice to know someone likes them."
Oli tilted his head thoughtfully at Amber's suggestion and went over to a counter that had some knives stored neatly on top of it. He grabbed a small, jagged one, its sharp blade glinting in the kitchen light. He removed the bandages from his hands and grimaced at the ugly blisters that greeted him. He walked back over to the sink to not make a mess and he winced a bit as he carefully made small incisions into each blister. Almost immediately, fluid started to come out, and he lightly pressed the blisters to encourage the fluid to come out.
Needing a distraction from the pain, Oli looked over at Amber and smiled back at him. "People 'round here normally have green or dark brown eyes, so it is really cool that yours are so unique-"
A merry chime sounded from the bakery, and Oli's heart pounded, forgetting his callouses as he clutched the knife into his palm, the pain not even close to amounting to the fear he felt as he heard footsteps approach the kitchen.
"Oli? You here? I have that burn ointment if you need it, I saw you had some blisters from last night," A familiar voice called out and Oli gave a sigh of relief, his body relaxing.
"It's just my uncle," he explained to Amber. "Is it okay if he sees you, or would you prefer to hide?"
Cyris watches Oli, moving over, “Don’t press to hard, just a light and gentle touch.” He murmurs. “When you’re done wash your hands, and then find some of that burn ointment. Then after you put it on, wrap your hands in clean bandages.“
He smiles slightly, “I’ll take that as a complement.” He looks at Oli, “I did notice that detail, it’s strange seeing green eyes. I’ve always ben around people with brown eyes, orange, red, amber or gold. All on—”
He’s interrupted by the bell of the cafe and he spins, moving away from Oli in a few long strides staying along the wall, his hand at his hip where he knew his gun to be concealed. He watches the doorway, shaking his head slightly, tense.
At the sound of the voice he relaxes slightly, his hand dropping away, he looks back at Oli, moving back towards him, silent, “He can see me. . .” He murmurs, “If you trust him. . .”
"I trust him with my life," Oli promised, placing the knife next to the sink. "Over here!" he called back. A moment later, a man who looked almost identical to Oli except with shorter hair, taller, and noticeably older walked into the kitchen, his eyes immediately going to Oli's hands and the knife right next to him.
"You know doing that is painful, right?" the older man asked Oli, taking the ointment out of his pocket and opening up the small tin of medicine as he grabbed his nephew's wrists. "You could've waited until I got back."
Oli breathed a small sigh of relief as the cooling ointment was smeared onto his blisters, the pain instantly becoming more bearable. "I know, but I wanted to help fix Amber's wounds as quickly as possible."
Damien looked up from working on his nephew's hands, a puzzled expression on his face. "Who's Amber?"
Oli looked over at where his acquaintance was and Damien followed his gaze, blinking in surprise at the person he hadn't seen when entering the room.
"Oh! Hello there," Damien said, giving Amber a friendly smile. "I'm Damien, Olive's uncle." He glanced back at Oli. "I didn't realize we had more refugees coming through here."
"He's the only one that came in," Oli explained. "But he needs food, he's injured, and people are after him, so I've been trying to convince him to stay."
Cyris nods, mute. He watches Oli’s uncle, staying slightly tense. He debated on saying something, but he stays silent for the moment, watching Oli’s uncle put the ointment on. He watched Oli’s breath of relief from the pain and nods slightly, satisfied. He grabs his shirt, pulling it back on, wincing at the movement. He stays silent, lettering them talk, tying his jacket around his waist.
He sits on a small stool, silently watching and listening to the conversation, giving a small wave when Oli’s uncle looks at him. He sighs, “Oliver, I’m not staying here. It’ll just cause more trouble for you and your uncle. Like I said, I’ll take the food and then leave. Continue making my way north until I hit Canada.”
"Did you even comprehend anything I've told you?" Oli asked, exasperated as he stared at Amber. "If you leave, you'll die. Every stubborn idiot that says that they'll 'cause trouble for us so they have to leave' gets killed a few days later. So don't do it. Please."
Damien raised an eyebrow at his nephew's behavior; the older man had never seen Oli be so stubborn about having a refugee stay.
"Look, um, Amber, right?" Damien asked, placing a comforting hand on Oli's shoulder. "If you're not going to listen to him, then at least listen to me. We don't particularly care for the politics and wars that happen outside of our town, but we have reason to believe that an organization has a base of some sort near here, and they torture and execute every refugee they get their hands on. If anything, stay at least for a couple of days. Is that alright with you?"
Cyris crosses his arms, “Of course I comprehended what you told me. I am not an idiot.” He sighs, “But they won’t kill me. I won’t die.” He runs his hand through his hair, softening slightly at Oli’s behavior, “It’s better I keep moving, I know this through experience. I’ve always lasted longer moving around.”
Cyris looks at the older man, “I know exactly what happens. I’ve seen it.” Cyris sighs, “And most of the people that come through here are not trained to stay hidden. I am, I told you, I’m an assassin. It’s literally my job to stay hidden, and I do that better moving around.”
"An assassin?!" Damien cried, taking a step back from Amber. "Oliver, what the hell-"
"He's a good person, Damien," Oli said, suddenly feeling tired. "I wouldn't intentionally put us in danger and Amber's not going to kill us."
Damien muttered something under his breath, but Oli ignored it as he stared down at his hands which looked and felt a lot better than they had minutes before. After a couple of moments, an idea crept into Oli's head.
"What if…" he started to say slowly, looking directly into Amber's eyes. "What if I traveled with you? I know I don't know anything about the stuff that goes on outside of this town, but I do know how to cook, camouflage, and defend myself, and traveling with me would be better than traveling alone." With any other person, he would've dismissed the very thought of it, but something about the guy in front of him was different, and he wanted to know why he was so intrigued by him. "I can be useful, I promise."
Cyris looks at the older man, his face blank, and then flashes a wicked grin, “Look, man, if I wanted you dead, you would have been dead before you set foot inside this kitchen.” The grin vanishes, “But Oli’s right, I won’t hurt you guys. I have no inclination to hurt anyone unless they rat me out.”
Cyris stares at Oli as if he;’s grown a second head, “You think. . . I’ll just take you with me? Where, if I get caught, I’ll get have to either watch you be killed or do it myself? You’re much too sweet for that. And a life of running.” Cyris shakes his head, “I’m not briging you with me. Keep your comfortable, sheltered and safe life.”
"Well, I'm done with having a safe life!" Oli cried, his calm demeanor vanishing in a blink of an eye to be replaced by sudden, stubborn anger. "I'm done with healing and helping people only for them to get killed later. I'm done with being oblivious to the world outside of this damn town. And I'm especially done with you thinking that you can talk me out of helping and going with you."
Damien looked at Oli, his eyes filled with resigned sadness. He knew that his nephew had always hated not being able to end the suffering of all of the refugees who came by their home. And he also knew that there wasn't anything he could do to convince Oliver to stay; if his nephew wanted to leave with Amber, then he would leave.
Cyris keeps his gaze level with Oli's, swallowing, "Oliver. I'm not putting you in danger. I can not put you in danger. Do you even understand what you're asking me to do, Oli?"
Cyris's tone was calm and quiet, but firm. He was resigned to not letting Oli come with him, he didn't want to see the young man hurt. And that most certainly would happen if he came with Cyris.
"If I get caught, then you will die, Oliver. I can't let another good person die just because they liked me or helped me."
"Then we just won't get caught," Oli replied, keeping his gaze even with Amber's, his voice leaving no room for argument. He knew deep down that he was being irrational, that Amber would probably survive for a while on his own, but Oliver was tired of meeting people and then hearing that they died a few days later. And something about Amber made him want to stay with him, despite the risks.
"We can survive together. Or, you can stick with my original suggestion and stay here. No one ever bothers to thoroughly track people down here, and the locals would accept you as one of their own without question," he continued, determined to keep Amber from going off on his own. "Don't travel on your own. Please."
Cyris sighs, “I don’t want to be responsible for your life, and I can’t stay here. I’m too noticeable, if the wrong person passes through. . .” He shakes his head and then he pauses thinking.
He moves forward, standing in front of Oli, looking him over, “Why don’t you I want me to leave, Oli?” He guessed he should know why Oliver was being so insistant, and then make his final decision from there. There had to be a reason he didn’t want Cyris leaving on his own.
Oliver was quiet for a moment as he looked down at the ground, collecting his thoughts. Why did he want Amber to not leave? Damien stood to the side of the room, silently glancing between the two, also waiting for Oli's answer.
"Because I don't want you to be alone again," he finally replied, looking up. "I know you think it's best if you're on your own, but it's not safe. You're better off here, or if you insist on traveling, then at least let me come with you." He absentmindedly ran his fingers through his hair, feeling a sense of defeat. He was just using the same argument that he'd been using this entire time, but maybe Amber would finally understand if he kept repeating himself. "There's plenty of things we can do to make you not noticeable here and believe it or not, we can defend ourselves too. We have weapons and safe shelters hidden all over the place, so if the wrong person does happen to pass through, we have nothing to worry about." Oli made his gaze level with the taller person in front of him. "Please trust us. Trust me. I wouldn't suggest you stay here if I knew that it would put us both in danger."
Cyris looks at him, quiet. Debating. Then finally, "Fine. You can come. But if you become dead weight, I'm dropping you like a dead fly and moving on. Wherever that may be. And you'll have to find your own way from there." Cyris had the sensation that he was doing something very stupid. He also had the feeling of he got this boy hurt the smallest amount, the uncle would find a way to and Cyris pay. Or maybe the boy would himself.
"I'm leaving at dawn, if you're not ready to leave by then, I'm leaving without you. That eight hours. Dawn's at 6:03." He backs away from Oli, sitting on a stool, "And I'll test for that time, don't worry about me." He grins.
Oli was still processing the fact that Amber had agreed to let him come so he didn't register everything else he had said until a few moments later. Oli blinked in surprise before a bright, genuine smile broke out on his face, his heart racing from excitement.
"I'll be ready by then," he promised, struggling to contain his happiness from his triumph. "You won't regret this."
Oli turned around, ready to pack the things he needed to be prepared for the moment but stopped when he saw his uncle gazing at him with bittersweet eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, maybe even apologize, but Damien stopped him by walking over to him and giving his nephew a tight, warm embrace. "I can't stop you from going," the older man murmured in Oli's ear. "But that's not going to keep me from worrying about you. I'll make some food for you both to take on the road in the morning, and I'll give you some of the weapons and survival supplies from the basement." Damien pulled away after a moment, looking into Oli's eyes before giving his nephew a small, sad smile. "Don't get killed, okay? I'll be very pissed if you do."
Oli chuckled, his eyes shining with gratitude as he looked at his uncle. "I'll try not to."
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