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A young man of about twenty, wearing a baggy shirt, an old hat, heavy boots, and overalls, strolled down the street. He seemed quite out of place there, as if it were his first time in the city - and so it was indeed. He was accompanied by a tall man of about thirty, taking huge steps with his long legs and gesticulating proudly. This man was not out of place at all, one could say, his expensive clothes revealing his wealth, his confidence leaving no room for doubt that he was exactly where he was supposed to be, doing exactly what he was supposed to do. They made for a strange duo, one that never would have formed naturally. There was nothing, one could assume, that these two could have in common enough to hold a conversation. Indeed, even the fact that they were together was quite strange. It would make for quite a compelling, even symbolic illustration, though - Wealthy Man Converses With A Young Farmer, oil on canvas.
Against all odds, those two did have a connection, and there was a reason why the young man was in an environment that he was clearly unfamiliar with. He'd been hired, quite recently, and brought here, having said a teary-eyed goodbye to his family. Luckily, he was never one to complain about what life brought him. He was far too polite for that. Despite his reservations about the city, which he couldn't help but distrust, he shot curious glances around as he walked, and nodded along to the man's speech with an innocent, unassuming smile.
He wasn't sure what he was going to have to do as the man's employee, but he reckoned it was going to be much different from what he had to do at his family's farm, and probably much less pleasant. It worried him, at least at first. But, being himself, he shrugged it off. Everything was an opportunity to learn, and he didn't have much choice anyway. The paycheck, he knew, was going to make everything worth it. Not to mention that he owed the man quite a debt for getting him out of a rather nasty situation. Nobody would ever know, he was assured, and he believed it. There was something about the man that seemed dependable. It was probably the money. A part of him also couldn't help but be fascinated by the prospect of seeing the world and meeting new people. People like him, at that. Ability users. Even if the man's interest in him was based solely on his Grapes, it was still quite flattering. He's going to be very useful, that's what the man said, and it really seemed like he meant it.
Everything about the man commanded attention. His impressive height, his confident step, the way he puffed out his chest. His voice, pleasantly even and calm but with a certain forcefulness behind it. His face, handsome, youthful, framed by a fringe, swept to the side. Yes, this man was Someone, and he knew it, and he wanted everyone else to know it too. In an odd way, he could make his interlocutor feel important too, though not quite as important as himself, with a single glance and a flash of a smile. Perhaps it was because the young man had never seen someone like him before, but it left quite an impression on him. That was when he realised that he was being addressed.
'Shall I tell you how I became this successful?'
The young man pondered that question. It would be highly impolite to say no, and besides, he found himself being quite curious. He tipped his hat.
'Yessir.'
'The first rule of success is…'
The man continued for quite a while, occasionally glancing at him to check if he was still listening, and everytime, he nodded automatically. He was listening, all right. The entire time he was listening - at least, he was sure that he would retain the information somehow. The important bits, at least. He was good at leaving the impression that he was listening, while letting his mind wander. Everyone always found him to be a terribly polite young man, and a good listener. Curiously, most of the time he found himself remembering the parts that truly mattered, and even being able to quote them verbatim. It was a unique talent he cherished and didn't question, in case that would make it stop working. It worked wonders in school, too, provided he didn't miss class. This skill let him pass most tests without studying much at all, which was convenient. Studying was a chore. Actively listening was a chore also. He hated chores. If he could make his life easier, he would.
As the man continued to talk, he wondered what it would be like to actually be successful. He never thought about it much before. He was, for the most part, happy where he was, except that he wished that his family wasn't so poor. Not even for his own sake. His family was so big, they could always use more money. That was, after all, why he signed onto this strange deal. He could only hope that it would pay off. The rules were probably not going to be useful to him, but he knew he'd remember them anyway. File them away next to the Ten Commandments, which, for the most part, he also had little use for.
His body was shoved forward with sudden force, setting him off balance, but not quite enough for him to hit the ground. A second later, he heard a terribly loud noise, which made him turn around in confusion. Wide-eyed, he stared at the sidewalk in shock. A brick had fallen from above, presumably somewhere on the building they were walking past and, had the man not shoved him aside, it would have crushed his skull, definitely sending him at least to the hospital, possibly to a morgue. He looked up at the man, opened his mouth, and closed it again without having said anything.
The man patted his back apologetically. 'You will have to pay more attention to your surroundings, old sport,' he remarked by way of caution. 'The city can be quite dangerous. And as a member of the Guild, I'm afraid you might have to be even more careful. There are worse weapons than falling breaks, haha!'
Still quite shocked, he nodded. He did not like that thought one bit, but perhaps at least it was going to be interesting. 'Yessir,' he offered with a weak smile, thinking that, at the very least, this man wasn't going to let him die.
***
A year or so later, the same two men walked together again, but the circumstances were much different. The young man was no longer wearing his old, baggy clothes. Instead, he donned a black leather jacket, with matching black leather boots. His gloved hands were hidden in his pockets. One of them was holding a hidden knife, just in case. The older man, now with less youthful energy and confidence, replaced by a somewhat melancholy look on his face, also had new clothes. His old golden jacket had been replaced by a less expensive brown one. They continued to walk, slowly, neither of them saying a word.
It was rough, seeing each other again. Nothing was left of their dynamic from the start. The younger man no longer listened to the other with curiosity and admiration, absorbing every word subconsciously and taking it to heart. He was no longer smiling innocently, and he didn't think he ever could again. When was the last time he smiled? He couldn't remember. His mind was a mess. To his great surprise, the man didn't seem eager to speak, either. Perhaps he could sense the emotions boiling deep inside the young man, and didn't want to set them off. Or perhaps he was curious as to what he had to say, because really, he hadn't said much at all.
It was so much easier on paper. He had an entire speech prepared. In his mind, it was so dramatic, so just, so right. It encapsulated all his feelings, all the betrayal he felt when he remembered his own admiration. Those rules, the guide to success, were still burnt into his heart. He wanted to deny that he ever had any warmer feelings for the man, but that was simply how it worked, wasn't it? It hurt him so much because he didn't always hate the man. That was the harsh truth.
What did he want? He wasn't sure. Revenge seemed appropriate, but it wasn't really what he was looking for. A part of him longed to feel the innocent admiration again, but he was sure he never would. Not again. He wanted to be friends with the man, but only if he witnessed him at his lowest. No more success. No more gloating. No more manipulation. Was it manipulation? Was it really so easy to manipulate him with money, him, who never wanted more than he had? Shame. Shame. Shame. And he still hadn't said a word! His hand tightened around the knife.
He wasn't sure what tipped him off. Maybe something rustled nearby, maybe it was simply an instinct. As always, he figured there was no benefit to asking questions. All he knew was that a few seconds later, he was on the ground having tackled the man who was now underneath him, looking startled. A bullet had barely scraped his arm, which was now slowly bleeding. If not for the intervention, the wound may have been fatal, or at least much more dangerous. He wasn't sure who the shooter was, and he again didn't want to question it. There were no more shots. Just silence.
He got up to his knees. The man's face must have resembled his from that day when a brick almost killed him. The unmistakable shock of a near-death experience. He couldn't help but smirk at the sight, just for a second. Whatever he wanted, turns out, was this. This look of surprise, fear, and gratitude. He helped himself up and extended a hand towards the man.
'You have to pay more attention to your surroundings, sir,' he remarked as the man grabbed his hand. And slowly got up to his feet. Before he could release his hand, the young man initiated a handshake.
A life for a life, he mused to himself with certain amusement.