Chapter Text
The first thing Scorch was made aware of as they woke up was the pillow hurled directly at their face. The second thing was that the bed they were sprawled across was far too comfortable to be any within the guild. Naturally, the pillow was followed by a pile of clothes. Those at least were very familiar. An amused smile crept onto their face as they recalled the events of the previous evening and the exasperated woman stood at the end of the bed.
“You need to go.” And such blunt words partially wounded their pride. The doe-eyed, golden haired beauty before them was no stranger by any means. It certainly hadn’t been the first time the two had shared a bed. Something about being rough and rowdy always ended up a siren’s call to those of a higher social class and Elisa Barnsby’s tastes were no different than the rest. Though, Scorch found themself more fond of her than most. She held a wild side unlike any other. “I’m assuming you know your way to the window by now?”
They laughed as they slipped their arms into the sleeves of their shirt, taking their time to slowly button it up. “You’re not sick of me already are you, El? Especially seeing as you were the one so insistent that I stay the night.” For the simple reason that they could, Scorch batted their eyelids.
Reaching over to help with the buttons (and they certainly weren’t going to stop her), Elisa’s exasperation only grew. “Yes, and if I knew my husband would be back early from his trip then I wouldn’t have invited you here at all!”
Oh shit. The leisurely pace in which they had been getting dressed began to turn into a mad scramble. “Richard’s outside?!” Even when Elisa had introduced them as a close friend from the darker side of town, Richard Barnsby had always looked down on Scorch as if they were something lesser. An opinion they suspected wouldn’t be improved if he found out they were shagging his wife. But Elisa had been right; the window was no stranger to them and it was by far a better option than facing the infuriated husband of their acquaintance.
No sooner had the final button of Scorch’s shirt been done up did someone knock on the door. For a moment, they swore their heart stopped in their chest. “Mrs Barnsby, are you awake? Your husband is requesting your presence downstairs.” Their shoulders slumped. Just a servant.
Elisa took a deep breath, clearly trying to rid herself of exasperation. “Just a moment. I’m in the midst of dressing. Please assure my darling husband that I will join him shortly.” The serving girl’s voice began to echo through the door once more before she was swiftly cut off. “No further assistance is needed, thank you. I’m entirely capable of readying myself for the day.”
Scorch didn’t bother hiding the pure chaos-fuelled grin that crept onto their face - though they dutifully kept quiet until echoing footsteps assured them that they were alone once more. “Well, it appears me and your window are going to once again form a fast friendship.” Their grin stretched impossibly wide as Elisa all but shoved them out of the window. “Until we meet again, fair lady.”
Then, with the smoothness and confidence of someone who had done this countless times, Scorch slipped out of the window. Balancing on the window ledge was always the tricky bit; making sure not to fall as they made a note of who exactly was waiting for them below. Not too many of note and certainly not Richard Barnsby. Perfect.
The Barnsbys’ lived in an old house - older than most in Forowen - and as a result had ivy crawling up its side, decorating the house just as much as it worked its way to destroy the infrastructure. Not that they cared much about that. No, the part that cared about is that the ivy was sufficient enough in carrying their weight as they climbed down. Perhaps one day the plant would decide it had better things to do than support the weight of a reckless gunslinger but today was very clearly not that day.
As undignified as sneaking out of a window felt, it did nothing to bruise Scorch’s ego or wear away at their cockiness - something that often led to their regular brand of trouble. This time was no different. The door to the Barnsby’s home was still open and she could see Richard inside the foyer, waiting impatiently for his wife as servants carried in his luggage. Well, Richard was a dick and whilst Scorch’s ego may have been impenetrable, they knew that his was as fragile as thin porcelain.
Performing a mocking attempt at a bow, they gazed upwards at the window they had now successfully escaped from. “Until we meet again, sweet Elisa! And I once more get to delight in the glory of your company!” And if Scorch used some of their own magical tendencies to louden their voice and make sure it reached Richard’s ears? It wasn’t as if anyone could prove they’d done it!
But what they could do was prove that Richard had heard it - if the way his face seemed to traverse through every single shade of red was anything to go by. If that wasn’t, the way he turned to chase after Scorch certainly was. But these were the moments they lived for. No matter how big or how small, there were few things as intoxicating as pure recklessness. Trouble without a thought to the consequences; trouble where you can spend one precious moment believing you’re invulnerable. Then again, in comparison to any threat from Richard Barnsby, Scorch was invulnerable.
It didn’t take them as long as it should have to lose the man. Evidently a surplus of wealth was his way of making up for a lack of any physical skills. Still, they proceeded with caution. Considering they’d slept with his wife (again), they wouldn’t be too surprised if coin had been slipped into more than a few pockets to discourage them from a repeat offence (again). Not that it would work, of course. Elisa was always the one to seek them out first.
There were many benefits to not having the money needed to take a carriage across the city and instead having to use your own feet to travel from one place to another. One of which being it made it far easier to know how to go unseen. It made you a little more confident as you used back alleys and side streets to find your way home. The more… dubious side of Forowen was somewhere Scorch suspected they could walk perfectly whilst blindfolded - granted it would have upped their chances of being stabbed or robbed in the process but it would have been perfect all the same.
So they passed by the old shop owned by a witch who was willing to do anything for the right price; a brothel that always seemed to be in full swing no matter the time of day; the dark corners where anything could be bought if you sought out the right seller; the tavern that did a half-decent job at concealing its role as the headquarters of the Horned Guild (a job that would have been far more successful if not for the dead body thrown carelessly on the streets outside).
As pleasant as the city may have seemed to any tourists, the people that lived within it would be fools to think a city built by refugee fae, hellspawn, and all other manner of creatures wouldn’t be full of its own brand of trickery and deceit. And Scorch was neither a fool nor a stranger to the whims of the fae. They knew which windows to avoid looking into because nobody wanted to perceive that which would stare back. They knew to avoid the puddles that found themselves a permanent fixture on the ground regardless of how long the city had gone without rain - after all, who knew how deep they could really go? Knowing all of that, Scorch should have known better than to not bother paying more attention to the people on the street beside them.
“Another day of enraged spouses and window hopping?” Anyone that dared claim that the voice behind them was enough to make Scorch jump would be swiftly met with a punch to the face. However, that wasn’t to say it wasn’t true.
Closing their eyes for a brief moment, they found themself glancing back with an expression of pure deadpan. “Karick. Not that I’m not delighted to see you, but why the fuck are you following me? You know as well as I do that sneaking up on someone with an itchy trigger finger is an accident waiting to happen.”
The man standing behind Scorch had the sheer audacity to look amused by the situation. Karick Burnlight was a half-elf known to be as smug as he believed himself to be handsome Unfortunately, he had also been their roommate for the last decade or so. “We both know you’re not armed right now. I doubt there’s so much as a knife in your boot.”
They absolutely did not pout. “And what gives you that idea?” Not that they had any intention of outright telling him he was right.
“You never take your gun with you when you’re drinking with intent. Something about scaring off more ‘intimate’ friends.” Scorch was severely starting to wish they had something to throw at him. Preferably a knife or a sharp rock if one wasn’t available. “That, and you’re not wearing your ring.”
“Of course I’m not wearing it! You ever tried getting laid with a razor sharp ring on your finger? Things get… messy, and it’s not like I can just take it off and hope I don’t lose it!”
“Wouldn’t know, wouldn’t care to know.” The only form of intimacy Karick showed any fondness for was sparring or the kind of platonic behaviour that bordered on being annoying. “Also not the point.”
Right. Scorch took a deep breath. There were very few reasons as to why he’d seek them out on their Walk of No Shame - and only half of them weren’t awful. “Out with it then. It may be morning but that doesn’t mean I have all day.”
Throwing an arm around their shoulders with a little bit too much force, Karick bore down on them with a wide grin. “There’s a job. Short and simple with your name very literally written on it.”
“Not many people that would ask for any of us by name. I’m pretty sure most are convinced we all go by some variant of ‘Gunslinger’.” Which may have been true professionally, they all had names. Scorch was very fond of theirs - after all, they had picked it out themself. There were times it may have felt heavy but it was theirs nonetheless.
The Society of the Bloodbound remained one of the oldest organisations in Aelirant. Nobody could say in which nation they originated or even when they had first formed. All they knew is that most there could use their pistol as if it were an extension of their own arm. They could fire shots that scarcely missed. No job was too big if you had the coin to support it. Some members had strict moral codes but others… others just loved gold more. Scorch always found themself somewhere between the two, leaning one way or the other depending on the day.
Scorch had first joined as a child, finding a family there when any biological one had long since been torn away from them. Karick, however, had joined in his mid-teens; a runaway determined to prove himself to the world. Then he’d been thrown into the room of a scrappy changeling with just as much to prove, and thus began a partnership that was nothing less than dubious. The start of a friendship that was as beautiful as it was ugly.
“Then it’s lucky Luke isn’t most people, isn’t it?” And that definitely caught their attention. Of course it was fucking Luke. A friend made over a few too many drinks and the brawl that followed soon after. A friend who, even when pressed, refused to share most things about himself. The few things of note were simple, really. He was an open ear to any who needed it, and he was a mercenary always eager to make a few quick coins. His career path and Scorch’s often ended up colliding and they had quickly found themself an ‘unofficial’ member of his messy band of misfits.
But unofficial always remained the key word. It would take the will of the Gods to make them leave the Bloodbound and even then, they would struggle to be convinced. It was the only true home they knew. The pillar that had supported Scorch before they even were Scorch, back when they were a terrified child with the world collapsing around them. Loyalty to them was worth more than gold. It was something more than priceless; it was sacred.
Not bothering to look at him, Scorch did their best to knock Karick’s arm off of their shoulders with a shrug. “Let me guess; he’s accepted a contract that’s a little out of his depth and wants me to shoot his way out of it?” It certainly wouldn’t be the first time nor would it the last.
“Supposedly he’s claiming that you’re just such good company.”
They snorted. “As if that isn’t a pile of bullshit.”
The smirk on the half-elf’s face was one they quickly worked to match. “There are very few of your kind in the city and even less so in our profession. Perhaps he’s eager for your own personal brand of fuckery.
Your kind.
The reminder that even if they lived in a melting pot of every race and creature imaginable, there was always that degree of hesitance that kept them on the outside. Eyes that were clouded with pure white, combined with ashen skin and hair - as if a canvas desperate to be painted -, Scorch knew a little too well about the unease the presence of changelings seemed to bring out in people. Even their best friend hesitated, almost as if he were scared to so much as utter the word out loud. But this was hardly new and they had learnt to take the words as if slammed against iron skin.
Their current guise was that of a human. One pretty enough to catch the attention of the right people but hardly noticeable enough to be picked out of a lineup. It allowed them to drift through Forowen as if the last two decades had been enough to make them truly belong.
“Maybe.” The word was nothing but hollow. “Now piss off and bother someone else. I’ve got work to do."