Little!Briar attempts to pick the pocket of an assassin
When: Start of the age mix-up plot
Where: In town
He liked it, he decided, even if it did make his mouth feel like it was full of wasps.
Roach was pretending not to be frightened. He was pretty good at it; he’d been doing it for as long as he could remember. Being scared was dangerous; it would get you either caught or killed. There was a lot going on he didn’t understand, but he had to at least accept that he was far away from home and from his gang. Not that he was especially upset about that - Hajra was a hole anyway and there was something freeing from being out from under the thumb of the Thief Lord. But he was lost, and how was he meant to survive without a gang anyway?
Well, he had an idea of where to start. It was a very busy city, with buildings so tall they made him queasy. But this was where people with money would be, so he clung to the walls and watched for a likely mark. The clothes everyone wore were so strange and unfamiliar, it was difficult to judge his aim. In the end he decided to brush past the next passerby with visible pockets, which were in a kind of short overcoat attached to a man who seemed somewhat distracted by his own surroundings.
Fitz could understand the uncertainty and of arriving in a strange, unfamiliar place. He was still adjusting to the strangeness that was Vallo. Vallo City was filled with more people than Fitz had ever seen in a single place before, and his first week in the city had been spent trying to make sure that it didn’t overwhelm his Wit sense.
He was growing used to it now. He’d gone and used some of the stipend he’d been given to buy some clothes that would allow him to blend in with the majority of people, though when he’d examined people’s clothes, he’d found a greater variety of styles than he’d ever thought could exist. When he’d seen them, he’d thought, a little painfully, of the Fool, and how much he would have delighted to see it.
But whether he was growing used to it or not, he was on high alert. Cities of any size were a good place to get pick-pocketed, robbed, or jumped, and the larger the city, the more true it was. Perhaps if he hadn’t been so aware of his surroundings, he wouldn’t have noticed the child who’d ducked their hand into the pocket of his leather jacket. The kid was good, he’d give him that much credit.
He caught the boy by the wrist. “None of that now,” he said, gruffly, pulling the child in front of him so he could get a better look at him.
“Ow.” Roach grimaced, cursing inwardly, and tried to tug out the man’s grab. That was dumb, he shouldn’t have tried nicking stuff while he was off his game, dressed in the oversized fancy stuff he’d found in the room he’d woken up in without any escape routes planned out. The man’s grip was like a vice on his skinny arm. “Leggo,” he growled, “I didn’t do nothin’.”
“Through no fault of your own,” Fitz agreed. For a moment, he debated the merits of keeping hold of the boy: it would stop him from running off and trying to get lost in the crowd, for one, and Fitz didn’t think he was done with him yet. The boy was wearing clothes that were far too large for him – stolen? Or were they given to him by someone who simply didn’t care? He skinny for Fitz’ liking too. He had the urge to take him somewhere to at least get some food, even if he couldn’t clothe him. He was reminded, a little, of when Hap had first come under his care, though Hap had never had the fire Fitz saw burning in this boy’s eyes.
But the struggling child was attracting curious looks, and Fitz wasn’t about to let this turn into a scene.
“What’s your name, boy?” he asked, dropping the boy's arm.
Roach blinked in surprise and rubbed his wrist. People didn’t usually let go when you asked them to. He considered running, but he didn’t know which way to go or where the good hiding places were, and at least he hadn’t gotten his arm broken. It had already been broken twice.
“Roach,” said Roach, and then he cocked his head to one side. “Or maybe… Briar? People are weird here. Sayin’ I got two names.” He shrugged and tried to turn the attention off himself. “You’re quick. You a mage?”
Roach. Fitz frowned. It wasn’t terribly uncommon for children who weren’t especially wanted to have names that indicated that. Hap’s name had been Mishap when he’d come to Fitz, but in the seven years that he’d been Fitz’ boy, Fitz had never called him that.
“No, not a mage,” Fitz answered. “I just have quick reflexes. Which name do you prefer?”
Roach shrugged, his too-big shirt shifting uncomfortably on his shoulders. What was everyone’s obsessions with names? What did it matter what he was called? “May as well be Briar,” he muttered. “Everyone’s callin’ me that, even people I don’t know.” Anyway, briars were meant to be plants. He liked plants. “What d’you care anyway, bag?” he asked, boldly. “Gonna give all my names to the magistrate?”
Fitz raised his eyebrows, amused. “Bag?” he asked. “So I’m getting insulted as well as robbed, then? I ask your name because I would prefer to know the names of the people I share a meal with. Are you hungry, Briar?”
The boy, whatever his name was - even he wasn’t entirely sure at the moment - was indeed hungry, but that was nothing new. He hardly even noticed it, usually, unless it got real bad. “Ain’t an insult,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Just means you got bags, right? Coin?” He rubbed his fingers together. Foreigners, he thought, and then remembered he was a foreigner in this place. He regrouped in time to give the man a suspicious look. “You wanna feed me? For what? I ain’t got nothin. And I don’t do favours. Unless you want somethin’ nicked.” He raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “Do you want somethin’ nicked?”
.”Not much coin here, I think,” Fitz said flatly. He’d seen hardly any of it, only slips of paper that were apparently supposed to signify money and what had been explained to him as a bank card. Fitz couldn’t say he understood it entirely, but everyone else seemed to take it on faith that the money actually existed, and so he wouldn’t cause much of a fuss.
“No favours and no stealing,” Fitz promised the boy. “You were going to try to steal my money anyway; this way, at least, I might have some say in how it's spent. I’ve often seen a food truck just up the way which serves tacos and burgers. What say you?”
Briar hesitated, but if weird bags wanted to give him food he wasn’t going to complain about it. There weren’t many well-meaning do-gooders in Hajra, but the real ones were usually religious types. Maybe that was the case here. And he was pretty sure he could get away if he needed to. He didn’t know the words truck, tacos or burgers, but food was food. “Suit y’self,” he shrugged. “I could eat.”
Fitz nodded, and, keeping an eye on the boy to make sure he stayed next to him, began to walk in the direction to the truck. “Have you always lived in Vallo?” he asked.
“Nah,” Briar said, kicking stones out of his way. “Just got here.” He wasn’t entirely sure about that either, but he didn’t remember being here longer. “It’s big. An’ clean. People must wipe their feet onna inside before they go out.” He snickered.
“Me too,” Fitz said. “Only arrived last week. I think the lack of horses helps with the mess.” Fitz would have preferred the horses and the mess both. He found the cars in the street unnerving to no small degree. The magic was all different, more showy and obvious than the subtle magics of his own world, the dress was strange, and the phones were fascinating. But replacing horses with cars, he thought, would be the aspect of Vallo that he’d have the most trouble coming to terms with.
The food truck was where Fitz had last seen it, painted red with bright yellow lettering. The menu was written in colourful chalk on a blackboard. “So, what’ll it be, Briar? Burgers or tacos? Burgers are a sort of beef sandwiched between bread with some vegetables, and maybe cheese, if you’d like it. Tacos seem to be the same sort of thing, but instead of bread the ingredients are all tossed together in some sort of shell and it’s horrendously complicated to eat without spilling it all over yourself.”
“Burger then,” Briar said. He didn’t want to waste food no matter by what strange means it was acquired. Not that he was above picking loose bits off the ground. Plus, meat and cheese? It sounded like a feast. He wandered up to the truck and examined the big wheels with nervous interest. “We got camels at home,” he said. “And horses too, but mostly camels. I hate camels.” He made a face and poked at the tyres. “They bite.”
“Camels, huh?” Fitz asked, frowning. “Those are the ones with the cloven hooves and the humps on their backs, aren’t they? We don’t have any in the Six Dutchies, but they have some in Chalced and I believe I’ve heard of them in Jamaillia too. Though, I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of any of those countries.”
Fitz still hadn’t quite grown used to the idea that there were endless other worlds out there. He’d have thought he would have, having spent the last week and a half in a world so different than his own. He ordered them each a cheese burger, and a soda for the boy. He’d tried one before, but it had been far too sweet for his own tastes. He thought the boy might enjoy it more though.
The bottle of soda was handed to him nearly immediately after he placed the order. He twisted off the cap hand handed it to the boy.
“Is your country very warm then? I’ve heard camels prefer warmer climes.”
“It’s hot as a donkey’s fart, if that’s what you mean,” Briar said. He took an experimental swig of the drink he was offered and coughed with his mouth open. “It’s buzzing!” he complained, before promptly trying it again. He liked it, he decided, even if it did make his mouth feel like it was full of wasps.
“It does, doesn’t it?” Fitz asked. “I think it’s those bubbles, though I haven’t the slightest idea how they got them in there. Magic, I suppose.” But not like any magic that Fitz had ever seen. Then, this place seemed to have plenty of magic the likes of which Fitz had never seen. “I come from a place called Buck, in the Six Dutchies. In the summer it can be pleasantly warm, but in the winter it is bitterly cold, and often snows. Have you seen the snow before, Briar?”
Briar shook his head. “Nah. Heard about it. We got ice in Hajra, but it’s expensive cos it’s gotta come so far - or they gotta hire mages to keep it cold. Never seen any come outta the sky.”
"Well, that is a mixed blessing. Generally, it's unpleasant. Sometimes though, it's nice." He remembered bounding through the snow with Nighteyes, play-wrestling and knocking snow into one another's faces, and of sledging with Thick in Aslevjal.
Their burgers were handed to Fitz through the order window. "Come, let's sit and eat," he said, nodding toward a nearby bench. He sat down, and offered one of the burgers to Briar. "You'll want to use both hands, I think."
Briar glared a little, not liking being told what to do, but he was a small boy even for his age, and the food was so large that he would have struggled to even pick it up in one hand. It was more fresh food than he could remember seeing in his whole life, and he soon forgot to be resentful or suspicious of the man as bites of it went down at lightning speed. It was also the best food he’d ever had.
"Slow down; no one is going to take it from you, and you'll give yourself a tummy ache," Fitz said gently, a smile threatening.
Briar was used to belly-aches, and back home if you didn’t eat fast you didn’t eat. But no one seemed to be trying to snatch it out of his hands, so he did his best to take smaller, slower bites. “S’good,” he managed eventually. Please and thank you were not words he carried in his vocabulary, but that was about as appreciative as he knew how to be.
"It is, isn't it? I'd have never thought of melting cheese like this on my meat. I've never seen meat ground up like this before, either." He didn't actually know if he entirely liked ground beef. He found he missed the sensation of tearing the beef with his teeth. But he couldn't deny that it was tasty regardless. Perhaps it was just the wolf in him.
"You can have the rest of mine, too, if you're still hungry," he added. He'd eaten half of it and his hunger wasn't quite satisfied, but he would manage until he could eat again. There was no shortage of food in Vallo. He frowned, tilting his head. "Or, if you'd like, you might see if you can help me find some ginger cakes. They're my favourite, but I haven't found any yet." Not that Fitz had been looking especially hard. They were his favourite, but they hadn't been a high priority until now. But if he were a hungry boy in a strange place, he couldn't think of anything that would have cheered him more than meat and cheese followed by a ginger cake.
Briar looked up with great interest. Finally, something he’d heard of. “I bet I could find some,” he said, with a child’s confidence. “I got a good nose, me,” he added, tapping it with the side of his finger before snatching up the rest of Fitz’s burger and stuffing it in his mouth. He was starting to feel the unfamiliar sensation of fullness, but that wouldn’t stop him if there was still more on offer.
Fitz didn’t bother to mask his smile this time. He had a keen noise – not so keen as it had been with Nighteyes at his side, but keen enough – but he knew it paled in comparison to the nose of a child when cake was involved.
“Well then, lad, lead on. I’ll follow along, and you can tell me what you’ve discovered of this place so far. I’m sure you’ve seen far more interesting things than I have so far.”