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A variety of words could be used to describe Warci. Lucy or Bosanquet would call him extraverted. A grouchy bar patron would call him an attention whore. Odette would call him the sweetest man she’d ever met. Edith would call him by his name and nothing else. Most everyone on the estate would call him friendly, entertaining, a ray of sunlight in their dark situation, and a true companion.
No one would call him lonely.
They had no reason to think of him that way. He was always amongst the crowds, playing songs and telling jokes, doing little skits and tricks. The laughter fueled him, the attention drove him forward, and the occasional heckle was nothing more than an opportunity to improvise. Wherever he was, he was never alone. He’d seek out people like he was metal being drawn to a magnet. It’s what made him so darn friendly in the first place.
Warci wasn’t a loner, so he wasn’t lonely. He couldn’t be.
It’s what Warci told himself, anyway.
So what if he was used to performing in groups, and so what if Pip and Nesdin could never get along enough to form a proper triage of performers?
So what if he thrived off of deep relationships with others that he couldn’t hope to have when he knew so many people?
So what if old friends from his greenhorn days hadn’t talked to him in ages?
So what if everyone had other people they’d go to first before they’d think of going to him?
So what if he’d been benched for so long because everyone else just had someone they got along with better?
So what if he never seemed to get those fire-forged bonds from combat anymore, all those promising moments falling away the second they returned to the Hamlet?
So what if the Heiress seemed to need him less?
He wasn’t lonely. He wasn’t. It was stupid to say that he was. After all, he was lucky. He was surrounded by people he got along with, could perform day in and day out, had his family back with him...what more did he need? He certainly wasn’t going to complain because he didn’t feel valued enough (he wasn’t valued at all, once).
Besides, he had best friends. He had Siggy and Piquiri.
He still looked back fondly on those earlier times when he and Siggy had been practically inseparable. They’d both been different people back then--wilder people, people with contempt for the world and energy to spare. They’d made it their mission to be the public nuisances of the Hamlet, getting into all kinds of shenanigans only to be caught, scolded, and do it again not a week later. They could sit together for hours, talking trash and snarking about whatever came to mind.
(But now they’d mellowed, grown tired of such activities, had families of their own. The last time Warci had spoken to Siggy one-on-one, it’d been to chat about those old times. It hadn’t lasted even an hour, and it’d been coated with a layer of awkwardness that only came from no longer knowing someone that’d once been your partner in crime).
Piquiri, though? Piquiri was the greatest. Warci had stuck to him like glue since he saved him back in the Cove, and gradually Piquiri began to open up. He wasn’t as fun as Siggy was, but he could keep up with banter well, his gruffness meshing perfectly with Warci’s wit. More than anything, though, Warci felt safe around Piquiri. There was a trust between them stronger than steel, and it ensured that they were always sent out together, a regular power duo who always watched each other’s backs. They’d argue and make fun of each other, but Piquiri would always let Warci lean on him by the campfire, and Warci would always be there to calm him down whenever the shadows started growing too dark.
(But now there was a harsh wedge between them, born from accidental betrayal and an attempted murder. Warci hadn’t meant to hurt him, hadn’t even known what was going on, but gods above even now he paid for it. He couldn’t help but flinch whenever Piquiri made a sudden movement, and Piquiri rarely let Warci touch him anymore. The Heiress stopped sending them out together, and now they were nothing more than allies, one step away from strangers, another away from enemies).
Warci wasn’t lonely.
He wasn’t lonely.
He wasn’t.
He wasn’t.
He wasn’t.
No matter how deep that hollow pit in his stomach became, Warci swore up and down that he wasn’t lonely. He was the people’s jester, he was constantly surrounded by friends, he couldn’t be lonely. Sure, he could barely look Piquiri in the eyes anymore, and sure he couldn’t talk with Siggy in any way that didn’t call back upon nostalgia, but that didn’t mean he was lonely. He just didn’t have anyone he really considered his best friend anymore.
He became a lot more outgoing since his and Piquiri’s friendship fell to pieces. He’d been talking to everyone a lot more, continuing to build up all the friendships he still had. He couldn’t be lonely if he was doing that.
He had his wife, his soulmate, the love of his life and most important person in the world. She couldn’t go out on expeditions (even if she could he’d refuse to let her), but he could always come home to her. So long as she was with him, he couldn’t be lonely.
Yet as he looked around, everyone had someone on the roster they trusted above all else. Even Corneilles, one of the most distant roster members, had Montgomery to fall back on. Warci’s old best friends had people like that too, and many people had more than one of these confidants.
Warci didn’t have any, not in the way they did. Not anymore.
One night when Warci had snuck out to play his lute under the darkened sky of the new moon, he marveled at how empty it was at night. The people were all gone, at least mostly. He knew Nesdin was probably prowling around the borders and Siggy was probably awake somewhere, but there was no one around that he could see or hear. He lightly plucked his lute’s strings, paused to feel the vibrations in his chest. Even the most delicate note felt pointed with how quiet it was.
Warci didn’t know why he’d come out here so late. He was a performer, an extravert, an attention whore, all things that didn’t mix with playing music alone in the dead of night. He figured he’d grow antsy like this, away from the applause and laughter of others.
As time ticked by, he realized with a dull resignation that he didn’t feel any different than normal.
Warci began to suspect he might be lonely.