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The Citadel bar had finally calmed down. The forty-something-year-old patrons were laughing and joking amongst themselves, after hours dotted with bar fights and Fox having to break them up. The alewife sat alone at the red brick countertop, leaning back against a chair as they wiped a cloth against the inside of the neck and shoulder of a potion bottle. The bottle squeaked under their touch–an utterly awful sound.
They cared less about the quality of their work because they just wanted the patrons to clear out; a fellow witch gave them a new toy they were waiting to play with. The moment they looked up they watched as Soap dropped down into the bar, his fall cushioned by the effects of what was probably cloud pet magic. As he looked around to get an idea of who was in the room, he briefly made eye contact with Fox. The sight put them on edge in an instant.
They were already thinking about what he was here for–to drive them insane, to try to kill them, to do whatever he pleased to the place… but he peacefully walked to a window, sat down in a seat, and gazed down at the ground below. Thank Pandemos , they thought, dismissing the fact they were so scared of what could happen. Perhaps they did it just to preserve their mental image of being afraid of only themself. They looked around a bit more; fewer people were in the room than before, but it wasn’t clear. That’s fine. They can do magic in their office.
They left Crazy in charge as they weaved through the spotty crowd and down the red brick steps, past people trading and some studying, past the prisoners, and to their office. It was like night and day between the sanctum and the rest of the rooms. A low roof, spruce walls, and cracked stone flooring. Barrels lined the walls, with various objects inside. They reached for one container left to their door and opened it. They retrieved a squarish bottle full of a dark blue liquid, carefully lifted out their brassy dragonsteel sword, and brought both items to the table on the opposite side of the small room. They set the tools down and cracked open the lid of the bottle.
The bottle’s neck was wide, wide enough to slip something inside. The bottle was labeled Oculus Animae Prehenderat –“Eye of The Soul Catcher.” On the back were instructions penned in black calligraphy ink; open, let air out, add two drops of fresh blood, stir with a teaspoon, and let sit. Fox did as they directed. They figured they had left the potion to sit for long enough, so they held the edge of their blade to their palm and drew a thin red line across their hand. Now bleeding, they held their hand over the bottle and watched as two drops streamed in, clutching their fist and pulling it away soon after. They quickly patched their hand up and then stirred the blood in until it was dispersed.
They didn’t do bloodwork very often, and as per anything in alchemy, it was easy to get wrong. They lifted the bottle to check its color, and to secure their peace of mind. Purplish-blue. It’s ready. They took a big sip, huffing a bit afterward and wiping the extra from their face with their arm. It wouldn’t take long for it to take effect, so they learned over and looked at their reflection in their sword. A thin, glowing purple line wrapped around their iris, with glowing runes of the same hue under their eyes. Perfect. They couldn’t wait to have fun with it.
They rushed back up the stairs into the bar, clutching the potion bottle tightly. The room was mostly empty, with some people still lingering around tables and windows. They raised the bottle to a middle-aged man, they didn’t know his name but he stops here often. They looked into the bottle, the interior suddenly pitch black. There was a silhouette of the man, glowing white, with inky blood on his hands and a corpse at his feet. Brutal ! They held the glass to a man sitting next to the gentleman and watched as his silhouette glowed a bright blue. To the left and right of the man were smaller children, looking a bit like him, and his wife. Could that be his family?
Fox held the bottle up to various people and watched as their figures lit up in an array of colors, surrounded by money, women, and blood. Some had more humble ambitions, some were set on the harm of someone , and some just wanted to go home. They learned things they never knew they didn’t want to know about their peers, but they couldn’t look away. However, a fact intrigued them–Soap was still here. He had moved a few seats to the edge of the window seal so as to have space from the benefactors, but he never left. The one thing his soul wants most in this world really can’t be much. After all, wouldn’t it be worthwhile to know thy enemy ?
Curiosity got the better of them. They walked to a seat a bit away from him and looked at Soap through it, him paying no attention. He can’t have noticed them…
But looking through the glass Fox saw two eyes looking back. Lowering the bottle, Soap was still just looking at the ground below, but he knew they were there. Yet, somehow, every time they looked through it again, they were met with no ambitions but a frost-cold glare. With meeting so many people in a day, you’d learn how to read someone; and Fox saw nothing behind those eyes. No warmth, nor hatred–
“You got something to say, Fox?” They froze up as he finally said something about what they were doing. They must’ve looked insane, looking at a three-thirds full potion in desolate horror in Soap’s general direction.
“Oh yeah, just magic stuff, ‘figured you’d make a good test subject.” They nervously laughed, looking away. They set the bottle down with a clink, only his hand being in its line of sight.
Meanwhile, they tried to come to terms with what they just saw. They knew they had the ire of plenty of people, but there was no malice behind those eyes, just… nothing. Stare into the void, and the void stares back. “What’s being tested on me then?” Soap kept talking.
“Uhhmm… some kinda window spell that lets you see what people truly desire in life.” Fox’s confidence gave way to an idle panic.
“Oh? What’d you see?” He didn’t know what he was doing, but oh how it got under their skin. “Gold, power?” He snickered quietly to himself, “ Blood? ”
They looked again, now that they didn’t have anything to fear. Piercing eyes stared back, but now Fox could give it a second glance. Cold and isolating the feeling was, to have your confidence stripped from you by slit eyes–like a dragon’s. Wait… that’s it. Dragons. ‘Gold’… they were the object of psychosomatic obsession . He didn’t want wealth, or their blood on his hands, or any portion of the Scarlet Dragon Territory.
“Soap?” Fox had a slight quiver to their voice, their breathing quickening against their own will. “Why did you come to the bar today?”
He acted like he didn’t even notice any of their alarm. “Well, I just wanted to think about how things were. Y’know, before Polyspora.”
“And what does that mean?” They had never felt so small. They knew he was insane, that something in him switched when they went their separate ways; he talked to a bowl of rabbit stew, for Eros’ sake. Albeit, they thought he’d just forget all of what time they spent together, maybe not like that, but that he’d just cease to care about it all as they did. But they knew him, and avarice doesn't die so easily.
“ Oh, y’know!” He smiled, warmly. “You were so sweet back then, what happened?”
Did he even care about them? Is there somewhere, deep down in him, that isn’t overshadowed by greed? “Why are you so obsessed with the past?” Fox got defensive. “You need to move on. It’s been a while since we worked together.”
Soap huffed. Finally, that sweet charisma began to crack, giving way to something much more sinister. “Come on! Wouldn’t it be nice?” He leaned away from the balcony and reached for the cleaver at his waist, as Fox began to get up from their seat to fight. They grabbed the potion bottle and gave it one more glance; deranged avarice, now the shock of it giving way to creeping fear, greeted them. They drop the potion to look up at Soap one last time.
And there was nothing but an incomplete soul behind those eyes.