A knock sounded. Then, another. Soft, gentle. Then, insistent.
It was a strange enough sight to see a tall, brutish-looking man pressing his face up against a wooden door, cheek firmly planted, knuckles poised to rap once more. Garos's grin was wide, tusks peeping out. He didn't care, at the moment. Not when no one else was in the hallway to see, and besides, they were in the human capital. It's not like they had any archaic traditions here that dealt with something out of their control: like, tusk size. He'd never liked that bit. Not at all. He chewed at the inside of his lip and pushed away from the door, adjusting the bundle of clothes tucked underneath his arm.
"Cal, you in there?" he hummed softly and clucked his tongue. Of course, his question was rhetorical. He'd rounded the corner just in time to see the door shut behind him. Callion probably had his nose stuck in a book by now. That wouldn't do any good, not with an opportunity to bathe in the Kingdom's high class bathhouse. When would they ever get an opportunity to do that ever again? Who knew if they'd die tomorrow and never get the chance, "I know you are, just saw ya' heading in. The girls all went for a bath—ain't that a good idea? Let's grab one while we have a chance."
He drew his knuckles up once more only to have the door open and nearly fall face first into the room as Callion stood there, book indeed in hand and an expression on his face that fell somewhere between boredom and annoyance. "You are much too happy to be sharing a bath with a man you barely know let alone understand. Is my presence absolutely critical to your enjoyment of the waters?" Callion asked, his tone inquisitive and pointed at the same time. It wasn't exactly clear if he wanted to go or not, more like he was pressing for answers to something that should have been a simple 'yeah, lets do it!'. Maybe he wasn't used to people including him in much of anything outside of mage craft, but it was impossible to tell with his mixture of facial expressions and tone.
Garos caught himself on the threshold of the door, rocking back on his heels as if he'd meant to do that, and hadn't nearly fallen through the doorway. Graceless as a colt. The wheedling grin hadn't tempered itself either, even when Callion's face twisted in annoyance. It was clear that he didn't think going to the bathhouse was anything to be excited about. Maybe he was used to fancies like that, bathing in luxury, having things given to him—he wasn't sure where he'd come from, and what he was used to, but turning down any chance at a bath seemed like a waste.
"Awh, c'mon, Cal. Don't be like that," his voice thickened into a drawl, as he jammed his boot against the door in case he decided to try and close it in his face. Of course, he'd never take no for an answer. Leaving Callion alone in his room, with a book as his only companion, felt sad. Lonely. Even if he'd rather do that, then accompany him. "Course I'm happy to share a bath with a man I hardly know. That's one step towards knowing them, innit?" Thick eyebrows waggled expectantly. "Like you said, your presence is absolutely—" A pointed pause, before he drew closer and swept a hand to his side, and added, "critical."
Callion seemed to pause for a moment longer than necessary, before giving a sigh and slamming his book shut with enough force as to make a point. "Very well, one moment." Callion stated, wandering back into his room and closing his door for some privacy but not shutting it entirely. The sound of Callion moving things around could be heard, followed by a few louder bangs. "He asked, according to him, refusing him would be the same as pushing a man off a cliff with a rock tied to his feet." A bit more clanging and banging. "You would be welcome to come if the steam wouldn't warp you into the same shape as your attitude." A slight pause before something smashed, followed by some silence. "Well that was immature, now you're staying here is ensured. Reflect on your actions." Callion reappeared in the doorway with some clothes tucked under his arm to change into after the bath was done. A book was still in his hands as well, thick and old, but at the very least the wizard was making his way into the hallway. Closing the door, Callion looked to Garos. "Well then Mercenary, shall we get on with this then? I would like to get back before Will manages to destroy anything worth mo-"
There was a loud crash followed by several smaller crashes in Callion's room. Callion didn't seem to react nor look back. "Never mind, I will deal with it when I get back. Let us move before I hear more things that cause me stress."
Nothing could tame the satisfied, smug grin from pulling the corner's of Garos's lips up. Like a dog who'd finally been given a bone, he retracted his foot from the threshold of the door with full confidence that Callion wouldn't simply set back into it and slam it presumptuously into his nose. He moved to the side of the door, and leaned his back against the brickwork to wait for him as he turned back into the chamber, probably just scrounging up some crisp, clean clothes to bring along with him. The mage certainly liked being orderly and clean as a whistle. Made him wonder where he actually grew up. Either, it'd been a barn, where baths were scarce, or he was a fancy fella' who was unused to dirtying his fingers. From what he'd seen on the road, and how he'd conducted himself while camping… he believed it to be the prior, or something close.
The unexpected bangs from within the chamber made him jump. Another, and then, Callion's voice arguing with someone. Seemed one-sided, from what he could hear. No other voice hissed back in return. He narrowed his eyes and tried to peep through the side of the door, cracked as it was. He couldn't see anything but Callion's fluttering robe, and hand-gestures. Pushing a man off a cliff with a rock tied to his feet. His grin simpered itself. Accurate enough. He would've pouted and begged otherwise. He wasn't below either of those things. Silence strung itself out. Though, no sooner did another crash make him jump. Squinting his eyes did nothing to help. He couldn't see inside Callion's room and pushing it entirely open would've been… rude, considering he'd accepted his invitation to the bathhouse.
Garos raised a finger, and let it hang there for a moment, trying to mull his thoughts into words. What was all that noise? Sounded like a mum chastising his kid. But, unless the kid was mute, and throwing a silent tantrum, he couldn't figure out who he was arguing with. He made a small sound: confused, then let his finger drop down to side, turning towards the long hallway.
Another crash halted him mid-step.
"V-very well, then," a short, nervous laugh bubbled out as he took the first steps down the hallway, "I… didn't think you had anyone else in the room. Will, was it? Uh…" He wasn't even sure what he was trying to ask. "You find a dog or somefin'?"
"Of course not." Callion stated as if the answer should have already been obvious. "While I don't mind the furry creatures, I prefer for them to keep a fair distance away so as to not muddy my robes with hairs that will never cease clinging to my clothes." Callion continued his way to the baths. "I was talking with Will..." Callion looked back to see the confused expression on Garos's face, before giving a slight sigh. "My staff? You know, the one you've seen me carrying in all manner and form, and at one point levitate above my head? That staff." Callion stated this all in such a way as to imply that this knowledge should have already been known, like he was pointing out that a tree was a tree, or something to that affect. As Callion continued his walking, he obliged in continuing his explanation at least. "Will, as a staff, is a bit of a different entity. I fused it with multiple sources of arcane energy and at some point, that energy became semi-sentient, much akin to a elemental or primordial being. He doesn't talk or otherwise converse as you and I are performing now, but more akin to an empathetic connection that allows his thoughts to be known through specific sensory input." Callion rounded another corner, the doors to the baths no in view. "For example, when he's angry, I don't hear him say 'Grrr, I'm angry'" Callion stated, putting on his apparent best low-born accent. "I feel a certain level of rage emanating from him with a clear message of intent. Does this make sense to you?" Callion asked, placing his hand on the door to the baths and looking at Garos.
Ah, that made sense. Didn't seem the type to have something slavering at his heels, begging for bits of affection. Garos bobbed his head in a nod as they walked together. When he repeated the person's name again… a thick eyebrow flagged once more, as if he weren't savvy to a joke; mouth pulled into a line, clearly confused. "Ah," he made a noise, though he felt as if he understood less now than when he'd assumed a dog was destroying his chamber. It made him feel stupid. He rubbed the back of his neck. Elemental's, primordial beings. These were words that felt strange, unfamiliar on his tongue. He'd only heard what little stories he'd been told in his youth by his father. Of crooked creatures that made no sense, yet still existed. They were real. He felt the same about magic. It was intangible, a sour taste in his mouth he couldn't quite wrap his head around.
Still. It made him wonder.
So, he listened. Intently. As if he could strain his ears to understand what Callion was saying. He didn't. Not really. From what he'd gathered: he owned a staff that threw tantrums. But, one only he could hear. Or understand. He wasn't sure what the difference was. Once they rounded the corner, and the bathhouse came into view, Garos expression softened and then wheedled into a grin with Callion's next attempt to hammer into his head just what he meant. For a moment, he felt as if he were being sat down at his homestead, being taught about complicated traditions and only coming up more confused. He couldn't help but laugh aloud. Grrr. "Aye, I think I get the jist of it," he planted a hand on the door as well, "You've got a not-talking staff that has feelings." He paused and grinned once more, tusk peeping over his lip, "Are you mocking me with that accent?"
He slapped a hand on Callion's back. 'Course, he was kidding. Hearing Callion drop his clear-cut, nose-in-the-books way of speaking was worth any condescension he might've meant. "I do, and I don't, honestly. Magic always made my head spin. Your staff's leagues ahead of that." He pushed the door open and held it for them. "Sounds important, though. How'd someone get a staff like that, anyway?" Callion seemed to stumble from the slap across the back, followed by a loud huff of indignation at being roughed around in such a manner. He didn't say anything about it though, as he followed Garos into the baths just behind him, brushing his shoulders from some imaginary dust that had settled upon them.
"I made it." Callion stated, once more in a way that indicated that this should have been made very evident. Whatever the reason, Callion must have felt in a giving mood today though as he continued his explanation without prompt. "One tree branch, plenty of mana infused crystals, years of work and a dash of trial and error. Anyone with enough skill and knowledge about magic, such as myself, can do it. Could they do it to the degree I achieved? Doubtful." Callion said, his arrogant tone returning once more as he moved into the baths, removing his robes to enjoy the waters but keeping the book in his hand as he slipped into the waters. His skin was plastered with a multitude of different colors as different tattoos weaved themselves over his body in patterns impossible to recognize. "Named it the Will of the World, although at the time it didn't communicate with me at a level that it does now. Back then, I had it in my head that it was only proper to name one's weapon or tool of choice, like one would a child, or a slobbering slave beast that pulls a plough." Having slipped into the bath in a matter of seconds, he flicked the book open to a page and stared at its contents. "I assume even you have named weapons, as every mercenary I have ever met has named theirs. Usually something along the lines of 'Bloodletter' or 'Call of Rage' or 'Roar.'".
It hadn't taken long for Garos to follow suit and shed his clothes as quickly as possible, as if it were his most comfortable state. It was. There were hardly any subtleties in either cultures he shared. Orcs simply did not care about nudity and elves thought themselves too beautiful, too graceful to be anything other than proud. Nakedness was commonplace, in his world. He kicked his clothes into an unruly pile, underneath an intricate wooden slat that acted as a bench—even it bled of wealth, what with the lion's likelihood carved into each end. He grimaced at it and turned to regard Callion once more, listening with great intent. At least he didn't think him stupid enough to spare an explanation. Either that… or he pitied him enough to feel as if he had to.
The tattoos that wove across his body gave him pause. A tapestry. It was hard to tell where they began and ended. The only place they didn't touch were the parts covered by his robes, as if he weren't marked at all. He wondered whether or not that was intentional. There were scars there, as well. He knew the sight well enough. Stipled stripes raised across the markings; imperceptible, if you weren't looking hard enough. As stupid as he might've been when discussing the nuances of magic, he was perceptive. Intuitive, when it counted. He made no mention of this however. Instead, he approached the edge of the bath, and slowly slipped his way into it. The water felt divine; it'd been slightly warmed and smelt somewhat flowery.
Will.
Made sense now. Garos soaked his head in the water, and drew himself out like a hound shaking its head. He made a thoughtful sound in the back of his throat as he situated himself against the marbled inner wall of the bath, leaning his elbows against the lip. The tension in his shoulder eased. Felt like a small slice of heaven. A momentary reprieve from whatever they'd have to endure tomorrow. Worth it. He leaned his head backwards and stared up at the ceiling. Callion's words echoed in the barren room. They sounded louder to his ears. He only craned his head forward when he'd finished.
"D'you always do that?" he knuckled at his nose, and swirled a hand through the water, "Make assumptions about people you don't know." A short pause, and he chuckled. He took no offense. Wasn't in his nature. "Though you're right. Bludger is easier to say than Kebairash." The word rolled over his tongue, as easily as it always had. His second tongue sounded brutish instead of pretty, he supposed.
"When people stop proving me right, I will stop making assumptions about them." Callion stated simply, having slinked into the water a slight amount and holding the book above the water level. While it was obvious that he was reading the book, his eye movements did not look like one who was studying line by line. If anything, it appeared as if he had read this book before, and merely needed the page in front of him to remember the words. Every so often, he would flip a page and continue to the next one. "Besides, I was correct. You have named your weapons." Callion stated, his words sharp but not in the sense of an insult, more as if this was the outcome he had expected. He did appear slightly more relaxed now, even his openness with his answers seemed to indicate an alleviation of tension, if not arrogance.
"Seems like you've got everyone figured out." There was a stippling tone to Garos's voice, as if he were planning something particularly dubious. Maybe. He was making his way through the bath like an ungraceful fish cutting through the water. A large, lean man with his hands at his sides, waddling through the water, instead of swimming. It only reached just above his waist anyhow. Perhaps, Callion wouldn't notice since his attention was elsewhere, back into the book he held poised in his hand. Once he was close enough and probably in Callion's personal space, he prodded a finger to the spine of the book and weaseled his way at the man's side, eyes trained on the spiral of tattoos trailing down his shoulder.
He resisted the urge to peer closer. To grab at his arm and inspect them as one would a horse. "At first, I'd guessed that you were from some hoighty-toighty academy. Fancy bits. High society stuff. Used to stuff like this." A pause, before he knuckled at his nose, "but that doesn't seem right." He didn't correct himself, or say what he thought of him now. He just knew it wasn't that simple. That the man wasn't just some rigid-spined, high-class fop. He draped his arms behind him, and didn't seem to care if he was uncomfortably close. "Y'know I'm a mercenary… so, what'd you do before all this?" He gestured idly with his hand. Callion peered over, raising an eyebrow at the proximity of Garos to his person, before skirting a slight bit away, most likely to regain his own bubble of personal space as he removed himself from the touch of Garos's arm.
"I suppose the best way to put it would be more akin to what you do, if I'm being entirely honest with myself. One could consider me a mercenary of sorts, although the jobs I'm tasked with performing usually involve more than just revealing the inner contents of a brigand's skull." Callion stated, his eyes still glued to his book. "A nomad, a 'wandering wizard' if you will. One can't possibly understand all that there is by remaining in one place, and one must also eat and sleep at regular intervals, so compensation is a necessity. What better way to practice and learn than simply doing." Callion stated, although it seemed like he was almost bitter that his occupation could be summed up in the way that he did. "If I had my way, I would be head of a university somewhere, yet this world doesn't seem ready for the bevy of knowledge I could possibly bestow upon them." This earned a somewhat aggravated sigh out of the wizard as he flipped a page in his book. "Is that answer coherent enough for you?"
Garos didn't close the distance, remaining where he was, though he stretched his arms over his head and plopped them back into the water. He felt more relaxed here, then he probably ever had. He wondered vaguely how people could worry about anything when they had this kind of luxury. Warm meals, soft beds, a bathhouse to relax in whenever they felt like it. Sounded like a slice of heaven, though he certainly wouldn't have liked any of the responsibility the King had weighing down on his shoulders. Running a kingdom looked like tough stuff. Something he'd never be interested in. A crown was a heavy burden he'd never dream of carrying, even if it meant drowning in wealth.
He arched his eyebrows and rolled his head to the side, regarding Callion with a flat expression. Him? A mercenary of sorts? The steepled smile tugged at the corner of his lips once more, though he made no further comment. He couldn't picture it. Not one bit. Not in the conventional sense, anyway. The second description suited him better. Slaving his time away in all those books of his, in some university nestled in the capital of wherever. Even so, he hm'd, and tilted his head back to the ceiling, mulling over the man's words. Callion didn't seem the sort to carry conversation, unless it was beneficial. Idle chatter didn't interest him. Maybe, he'd concede. For awhile. "Good enough, I think, Mr. Mage-Mercenary."
There was a reflective pause, before he sighed softly through his nose. His elbows planted themselves back against the lip of the baths, and he shuttered his eyes once more.
"Tearing down that wall of yours is gonna take more than bonding in a bath, innit?"
"Wall?" Callion responded, his eyes never leaving the book as yet another page turned. There was a moment before Callion seemed to clue in as to what Garos meant. If anything, despite his obvious intelligence when it came to magical theory, he didn't seem as quick on the uptake when it came to matters of social interaction. "Ah, you think I'm hard to talk to and get to know." Callion said more as a fact rather than speculation, as if he had come to this conclusion a long time ago. Callion closed his eyes for a moment, breathing through his nose for a moment before coming to some kind of agreement within his own head. He closed his book slowly and deliberately, although one of his fingers held his place within the pages as he turned to look at Garos. "We are not friends, Mercenary." Callion said deliberately. "I have known you all of a couple of weeks, and outside of one rather harrowing battle, have not managed to build any repertoire with you. One can look at my inherent nature and blame it on that, rightfully so as I am painfully aware that several dozen people not liking me can't be attributed to them all being ignorant idiots, only most of them." Callion stated again, seemingly taking a shot at himself as he continued.
"There is a good chance this quest we are bound to by fate or destiny or the whims of a mad sorcerer has brought us together, and you have proven yourself in a combatant sense, so I am more than willing to indulge you in a few..." Callion gestured to the bath. "Considerations. If you are looking for a friend, however, might I suggest the Farm Girl? What about the Elf? Or even the Harlot, as running her mouth and splitting her legs is all she seems to be good for." Callion returned his eyes to his book, flipping it open once more. "I don't believe in friendship, nor do I believe in selfless compassion and empathy. Everything has a cost and everyone is looking to gain. So long as you are willing to fight with me and cover my weak spots, I will do the same for you. That is all I have to say on that matter."
Callion's tone throughout his little speech seemed to be incredibly tempered and rehearsed, as if he had had this conversation multiple times over his life to the point of reciting it by memory. Had Garos been looking for malice or anger in his words, he would find none. It was more akin to a solemn resignation of fact than anything else. Regardless, it didn't appear that Callion was willing to speak on the matter further.
There was a poignant silence that drew between them. A thin line, untouchable. As if it'd span a lifetime. Garos's laughter was what broke it, though he knew well enough that that line, perhaps, would never be severed, not unless Callion wanted it to be. Of course, he, too, had had the same conversation before. Being a mercenary was a lonely life, and if he compared it to how he'd grown up, there were obvious comparisons that made him wonder why he'd chosen his vocation in the first place. Hadn't he always run from that? He crooked forward and held his aching stomach, attempting to draw in breaths to stifle his laughter. He managed to wrestle it down, knuckling at his watering eyes with sopping hands. Another sigh sifted from his lips, softer this time: defeated. He'd always tried to build repertoire with his acquaintances, and most of the time, it'd ended sourly. Either, with the end of a blade, coins in his purse, or a corpse. He never did seem to learn.
It made no difference this time.
"A boy can dream," he stated wistfully, lifting his shoulder in a shrug, "but aye, you'll have my blade, 'til the deed is done."
Nor the next.
