Gauss sighed and ran calloused fingers through his short red hair. sometimes he wished he knew where the King was so he could drag the bastard back and put him on the throne where he belonged. It was one thing to run a clan, but a whole kingdom? Even with help, it was ridiculous. It would have been better if either of the former heroes knew what the hell had happened. Who gets up, and out of the ass crack of nowhere ups and leaves his familial duties and the ones geared toward the people of the land? And he didn't care if he was calling a kettle black when his pot-looking ass had done more or less the same thing.
Whatever.
The forty-three year old looked up at the Hero's Guild, closing his scarred, left eye against the midday sun. How long had it been since he saw them?
"Fifteen years," he muttered absently, drawing his hands to rest akimbo. A damn decade and a half since he'd graduated from a recruit to a hero in less time than he can fathom. The guilt still ate at him, though. But only if he let himself think about it as hard. Shaking himself free of his errant thoughts, he shrugged and waltzed on into the building.
Inside was pretty much gorgeous. It looked more like a crafting guild than a fighter's. Well, without the stoves and the clanging of metal on anvil. It was nothing like the main castle, that was for sure. Gauss heard some conversation a few halls down. Raising a dark eyebrow (he really didn't feel like dying those because it would take forever to wash the remains off his face), he meandered out to the hubbub in the near distance.
He hated old people.
Well he didn't hate them, but was really peeved with this old lady that treated him like her own. She knew of what was to come -- the second war. She loved Axel to pieces, and as her last wish, she said she wanted him to become one of the new band of heroes. Now, of course she was at the age where many would begin to become senile and he did tell her, to appease the old woman, that he would, for all the times she told him to do it. Then he told her he would, for the final time, three months past. His heart was a little too soft to not keep the promise. The guilt would eat at him for days, maybe even years.
Dammit, Mrs. Peach.
Axel adjusted the strap of his duffel and trudged on. The weighty bag was hoisted over his right shoulder, and just as well: it wasn't like he could feel the brunt of the weight on that side as much. Green eyes balanced its focus between the guild and the lake. The lake looked awesome to swim in. It really did. But because of his right arm, it wasn't something he could indulge in too freely. It took more energy to stay afloat, and more so to swim comfortably with a hunk of metal shoved into his right shoulder socket. Not for the first time, Axel cursed his right arm, but it wasn't as vehement as it used to be all those years back. He'd come to terms with the loss of that arm, embraced it even...somewhat. Either way he was born a lefty so huzzah for him.
Axe gave his own joke a lopsided grin.
He fiddled with the strap of his bag again. Inside was a variety of steel and iron items: guns, hands, two cannons... Pretty much anything that can fire a bullet or an arrow. But he especially loved the automail hands inside the duffel. Once he slid one of those babies, on and threw on some knuckles, life was the way it was supposed to be. Besides, he loved fighting. It gave him something to do rather than read all day with that crazy old man of a teacher he had.
But, he grudgingly admitted, it was thanks to that crazy old man, he was more than just brawn.
...Like he'd need to know how many ounces of hydrogen he'd need to --. Wait, the best bombs were made with that thing.
Damn you, Herriman!
Axel came to a stop at the doors, and leaned to the left to balance the weight on his shoulder to push the door open with his right hand. He always did that with larger doors. Who knew what those things were made of. The door swung open easily enough, with some effort on his part of course, and he waltzed inside. The interior was, for lack of a better word, quite snazzy if he did say so himself. His thieving friend Lucas would have a field day in a place like this.
After reaching far enough inside, he heard different voices come together in what he guessed, slightly less than animated conversation. Flipping shoulder length dark hair over his shoulders, he followed the sounds.
"...sneaking through sludge is not my most ideal situation." He caught the tail end of the conversation. The person who had last spoke, had white hair and dark skin.
"Don't I know it," Axel chimed in, unable to resist. He knew what sewers were like. It came with running from gangs after your hide. "Just pushing through....not knowing what people did to make that kind of stuff..." Axel made a face. "Just plain nasty. It'd get into your shoes....between your toes--." He shuddered, looking slightly green.
His disgusted expression left his face almost immediately, though, and he let a wide grin spit his face. "Name's Axel. How goes it?" He unconsciously mentally checked that his right hand was still concealed by one of the leather gloves he wore. He had no problem with the entire arm. Lucas was also a master of fraud, so fake skin wasn't an issue. Well, hands were, so he was still working on that at least.
Over everyone else, he noticed a tall figure that seemed to tower over just about everyone, with red hair and a scarred face. Gray eyes, too. The man was at least a hundred feet away, but having the kind of eyesight he had and being trained to use it well, he saw what most others couldn't. That aside, who was he? A trainer?
"I'm Jace," another, deeper voice behind him made him start a little, and he whirled around to see --.
Wait. Didn't he just see this face? With a scar and red hair? With a little more height to the body? And different clothes? From another direction?!
Axel frowned and whirled around to double take. He DID!
Jace walked on silent feet past the lake and toward the guild. A few feet in front of him was some delinquent looking guy. Long hair, lanky, wore gloves in the middle of the heat with a huge bag that looked three times the other's weight but he carried it effortlessly. His only guess that this was some other trainee or maybe (but he doubted it) a trainer since the only thing in this direction was the Hero's Guild. Jace didn't speak up, however. He didn't feel like talking to the guy. And if his hunch was correct, if he initiated anything, the conversation would never end.
He couldn't live through that kind of torture.
Jace meandered at a set pace behind the other person, hands in his pocket and ears unconsciously peeled for anything coming or going from every direction. Living in the slums did that to persons, especially in wide open spaces. He wasn't agrophobic. Nothing of the sort. He just hated when there was no line of physical defense between him and everything else. But that's why he was a self taught fighter, for the most part. His father had taught him the fundamentals while he was young. Jace was always a fast learner and got all of the basics done by the age of five.
That was the last time he ever saw his dad. But no matter. Whenever he saw the man, he'd give him the meanest hook he could muster than tell him hi. Besides, it's not like the man left to see another woman. He went to fight a war and serve the kingdom. But it would have been nice to get a letter every once in a while. At least so his mother could stop moaning about it. Don't get him wrong, he loved his mother to pieces. He often wondered what became of her ten years ago when their town was pillaged by bandits and they were separated. He'd never seen her, but he knew the woman was a fighter. She took care of herself, no doubt. Hopefully, possibly.
Probably.
...Whatever.
He shook himself of those thoughts and followed the lanky fellow into the castle. He frowned when the person before him started speaking. The idiot just jumped in with no sense of good manners. And he sounded like an idiot, too.
"Don't I know it," the fool said. "Just pushing through...not knowing what people did to make that kind of stuff. Just plain nasty. It'd get into your shoes...between your toes--." The guy shuddered.
There was truth to it, but no one needed the grizzly detail of it all.
"Name's Axel, how goes it?"
He sounded way too damn happy.
Axel, huh? Well he hoped to the powers that be that Axel wasn't going to end up under the same mentor as he was. But chances are, given his luck when it comes to people, he'd end up with the stupid idiot anyway. But no matter. May as well kill the angst and introduce himself to avoid questions later.
"I'm Jace."
Jace resisted the urge to roll his eyes in disgust when Axel whipped around to stare at him wide-eyed. A good warrior is never caught unawares. Especially from behind. What kind of fighter was this guy? Then again he might be a delivery boy with that bag over his shoulders. He may forgive the buffoon if he was.
[I'd like to think this made up for my absence, right?~]
