Chapter Text
Let it be known that Race is not the most bold person in the world. It’s not that he’s a scared individual, he’s just never had the chance to do anything. He likes to think he could be one, if the opportunity arose.
Like now.
This opportunity has arisen.
This opportunity of a… strange man. Laying face down on the ground. What would be the bold thing to do?
Race doesn’t know, but instinctively he starts thinking of ways to hide the man. Where’s a good place?
Out the window, his brain tells him.
He tells his brain, That’s a terrible idea, absolutely not.
He thinks he hears his brain sigh.
Before he knows it, he starts pulling the person around. It takes a few minutes to decide where to put him, so the poor man has a fair bit of dust in his hair as Race paces across the main floor, dragging the man by his arm. Sniper watches him curiously (and a bit judgingly) but Race makes a point to ignore him. Despite the fact that he’s never truly been outside, he does most of the heavy lifting around the house. So, it’s not a struggle to sling the guy over his shoulder and wobble up the stairs to his room. He throws him onto his mattress, then stops to contemplate.
Shit, he hit the guy with a pan.
He runs downstairs, grabs the materials, and is back up in less than a minute. (Actually, 47 seconds, but who’s counting.)
Two minutes and thirteen seconds after that , Race has tied a bag of ice to the man’s head with a spare bit of rope he found in a trunk. That should take care of his soon-to-be concussion. After another second of thought, he ties the man’s hands and feet together as well. Never hurts to be safe.
He takes a closer look at… hmm. He should really stop calling him “the man”. He’s more creative than that. Sniper hops on the bed and bites on a piece of clothing the guy is wearing. Race leans forward and pulls it. It’s a hat, and a cowboy one to be specific. He pulls on the hat more to get a better look, but the guy makes a weird sound and Race realizes he’s choking him on the string the hat is attached to.
Whoops.
Quickly, Race places the hat next to him, and makes sure there’s enough slack.
Cowboy, he thinks.
“What do you think of that name?” He asks Sniper.
Sniper gives him a look that tells him Sniper thought of it first.
“Whatever, man,” Race sighs.
Stepping back, he takes note of the hat. It’s made with dark brown leather, and looks decently worn out. Not from around here. People in this kingdom don’t have hats like that. Cowboy also has a red tie, soft from overuse. Race glances past his black striped vest and steel gray-blue dress shirt, clearly nice clothes but worn and washed far too much. Then, Race focuses on what he initially noticed. The satchel.
Even while passed out, Cowboy seems to clutch it protectively, curling around it unconsciously.
“Whaddya think is so special about that, Sniper?” He asks his lizard. “Is his satchel precious, or is it what’s inside?”
Race doesn’t speak lizard, but he’s pretty sure Sniper just told him there’s only one way to find out.
Careful not to wake Cowboy, he inspects the satchel. It’s nothing special, just another piece of faded leather, so that means if it’s important, it’s only to him.
He lifts open the bag, and peers inside. In it, there’s only a canteen of what he’s assuming is water, a piece of bread, a small knife, and a little bag. This must be what’s special. It’s made of cotton blue silk, and it has a drawstring of what he’s pretty sure is real silver string.
Almost in a trance, he pulls the bag gently into his hand and shakes out what’s inside. It’s a ring, a ring so beautiful his heart almost stops. It was clearly crafted with the utmost care; the centerpiece is a sun, with the beams of sunlight twisting around to make the strip to wear. Carefully, he slides the ring onto the middle finger of his right hand. It looks like it belongs there.
He turns to the floor length mirror in his room, and stares at himself. His blonde hair seems to glow, and he stands up a little straighter. His light lavender shirt seems to brighten up the room, and the sun bounces off him like that’s what light was meant to do all along, and it finally found its purpose through him.
I need to see the outside, he thinks suddenly.
Before it was a want, a desire. It would be nice to experience it, to see why the books make it seem so exciting. But all of a sudden that want became solid. He needed it like air, like water, like… like nothing else.
Sniper screams.
“WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?” Race jumps so high he’s pretty sure his hair touches the ceiling.
Sniper taps his little lizard wrist and screams again, his tongue sticking stretching as far as it can go and his eyes bugging out.
“Oh shit, you’re right,” Race ties another piece of rope around Cowboy’s mouth, making his hair stick up in every direction. Quickly, he finds a little chain and throws the ring on it, and puts his new necklace around his neck and hides the ring under his shirt. Racing down the stairs, he jumps the last five or so and lands right at the window, this time fully expecting who will be there.
His father.
“Hello, son.” His father appears on the sill, and steps into the tower. He unties the string that holds his dark cloak to him, and takes out his pocket watch to check the time. It’s his most prized possession, and Race hates it.
“Hello, Father,” Race ducks his head as he grabs the cloak to hang it up. “How was your trip?”
His father sighs and ruffles his hair, which sends a flash of irritation through Race. His father always keeps his silver goatee perfectly groomed, but loves touching Race’s hair. He claims it’s because “not many other people have the texture your hair does, it’s very interesting, much like your mother’s”. While it’s true that his father’s hair is smooth and thin while Race’s hair has always been coarse and thick, it still makes him feel like a doll at times. “Oh, boring, like always. Be grateful you don’t have to spend a single second out there, Antonio.”
“Actually…” Race trails off, because his father has quickly moved on from him to take a close look at himself in the mirror. His father’s pale and wrinkled skin is a stark contrast to his own, dark and smooth. They don’t look related in the slightest, but his father says it’s because he’s a photocopy of his mother.
“Antonio, did you do something to your appearance again?” His father frowns down at him and inspects him closer.
Pulling his shirt closer over his chain, he responds, “No, I look the same as always.”
“You look… brighter.”
Panicking, he lies, “Well, I did lighten my hair again today, is that it?”
“Possibly.” His father walks away, and Race breathes a sigh of relief.
His father busies himself with making a sandwich, and Race hesitantly tries to approach him again. He has to see the floating lights, now more than ever. Also, he needs to tell him about the strange man in his room. It’s also on the list of things to talk about.
“Father I wanted to say something,” Race begins, but his father pays him no attention besides a mindless hum.
“I… uh…” He trails off, suddenly nervous.
“Now, now, Antonio, since when have you not raced along to say something?” His father chuckles to himself, and Race is suddenly filled with an anger unlike any other.
“I want to go see the floating lights.”
His father stills.
“Apologies, Antonio, perhaps I misheard you, but did you just say you wanted to leave?” He chuckles, as if mere thought was a joke.
“No, I just wanted to see those lights that appear on my birthday,” Race responds, self-conscious of the brush off. “They always happen, and I know they’re not the stars! Stars have more of a bright appearance, because some have theorized that they’re actually balls of gas. But these lights have a yellow tinge, like they’re small moons, and they’re far larger than actual stars, and they don’t align with the constellations that are usually in the sky this time of year.” He gains confidence and starts talking faster and faster as he follows his father out of the kitchen and into their eating area.
“How do you know what constellations are around at what times?” His father laughs again and takes a bite of his sandwich.
“Well, you gave me a book, Father. I had it for two weeks before you had to take it back to wherever you borrowed it from. Remember?” He bounces at the edge of the table.
"No, I do not remember that.”
“It was when I was seven, surely you know?
This makes his father pause and look up.
“You remember that from a book I lent you nearly twelve years ago?” He looks curious now, his monocle catching the light, making his eyes somehow harder to read.
“Well… yes.”
Carefully, his father stands up and takes him by the shoulders to look him in the eyes. Race stares at his forehead instead.
“Antonio, Racetrack, you
cannot
go outside. Not now, not ever. This is yet another example of why you mustn't leave this tower. Think of the terrible people that would attempt to steal you away if they knew you had such knowledge!”
Race insists, “They could just get it from the book, they don’t need me! Plus, you would be there to protect me-”
“No.”
His father stares down with a new intensity and a new darkness in his voice.
“But-”
“No. You can’t go out.”
Race lowers his eyes from the wrinkles on his father’s head to his eyes. He’s not going to change his mind.
Not ever, a part in the back of his mind whispers.
“Alright,” Race says quietly.
“I’m sorry, but that’s the way it is. It’s much too dangerous.”
“Okay, Father.”
Satisfied, his father stands up again to touch his hair. “I will be out again for the next few days, but I trust you can take care of yourself, you always do. I’m going to get you a birthday surprise.”
Race doesn’t respond.
“I love you Antonio, alright?”
After a moment, he says, “I love you too, Father.”
“Good.” And just like that, he’s gone again.
Race doesn’t know how long he stands in the center of the room, until he hears a scream.
He looks down and next to him.
Sniper looks up at him.
“Dude, you’re so messed up.” He says jokingly to his friend.
Sniper holds his gaze for a second longer before darting up the stairs and away.
“Hey,” Race calls after him. “Hey, where are you going?”
Race hears another scream, this time clearly not Sniper. His lizard doesn't have the vocals for that.
Shit.