Trash in Tash

Impossible to distinguish sarcasm from such a complex creature. For sure, she was laughing at his words, but there was a hint of admiration in her calm gaze. Arthur didn't know how to react at all, he looked left and right, if he could see his naked torso and underpants, he was certain there was something else for him to wear nearby.

Letting his eyes wander all over the room, he observed a poster decorating the wall next to a round mirror and recognized the woman depicted on it. Despite the rough scribble above the cash tag, it was pretty easy to identify her since she stood a few meters away.

'A bandit. And a good one at that.' He thought

He saw, not too far away, what remained of his ceremonial outfit, he pointed at it by reflex. Usually, a maid would bring the object he was staring at, but for now, he was all by himself. Out of pity, the wyrmfolk brought the torn tissue to the boy as she spoke.

"There's no use wearing them now, we had to cut it and check for more injuries. You may have gone through the explosion, but we, citizens, heard it twice. First when it blew up the castle, and second when it echoed against the Titan's claws. I'm impressed the thing is still standing to be honest."

He inspected what was once, considered as a piece of art. The pungent smell and the gigantic patches of dried blood stained the back of the vest. The size of the stain told much about his blood loss, he felt lucky to not have died because of it.

Arthur used the soft tissue to wipe his tears and droll, he exploited it as an excuse to scan the pockets, to his surprise, they were empty and what he was looking for was actually in the woman's hand.

Her kind gaze turned into two fiery slits as she squeezed her fingers around the gold buttons that once adorned the ceremonial outfit.

"What's your excuse for that? How expensive do you think it is to have a discreet doctor? I'm keeping what's left, you wouldn't know what to do with such a treasure anyway."

One word revived his best and worst memories at once, triggering a wave of pain that clogged his train of thought and perturbed down to the beating of his heart.

He missed the opportunity to pretend to not care by staying completely immobile while his nose let a flow of black and red liquid soil the bed sheets.

Only an intense sorrow made his eyes flicker. He racked the bottom of his throat and expelled the excess liquid that obstructed his nostrils before talking. "Keep it. I don't care, I'll soon lay my hand on a much more important treasure."

The boy wasn't attached to his outfit at all, he was already onto his next objective when he started a mental game with the wyrmfolk.

'Perfect. If she had eyebrows, they would be halfway through her forehead.'

The insurance she had hadn't faded at all, instead her interest grew, and her facial expression was enhanced. She was looking at him in awe.

"You remind me of someone, however, no matter how hard I try, I can't figure out who." After tilting her head to the right side, she asked with a curious tone. "Who is Lance?"

Arthur let a fake loud cough out before clearing his throat. "That's m-me. I'm Lance Purplerat. Nice to meet you."

He had never pronounced those words, only read about the ideal meeting and dreamed about it. He hesitantly reached for her hand but ended up holding it awkwardly. Almost as if he was waiting for her to kiss the brightest ring on it.

The muscles inside his cheeks and around his mouth were paralyzed by his sadness, even the scent of the disinfectant solution on his skin was muffled by his mind, and couldn't focus yet. The few actions he was performing at the same time and his brain working full power to overcome his lack of sociability were enough to make him forget how to breathe normally.

It was a mind battle. Both were strangers to each other and analyzed every word or intonation used in the conversation.

While the wyrmfolk approached to block the sunlight from bothering the boy, the nearly radiant blue that reflected in the room and its perfect concordance with his face hypnotized the woman. Her tail waved leisurely left and right as she spoke.

"Lance, my boy, are you not too old to go after a tale's treasure? You did mention the fabled dragon before fainting."

Now that he remembered why he let out the clue, he blushed. However, he couldn't afford to give her something to have an advantage on him.

"I am old enough to not mention the few buttons you've stolen to anyone, that is, if you can give me something in exchange."

Arthur let the information sink in before resuming.

"Is there a way for you to find some curry powder? I was on my way to find some before all of the commotions. Do you think it'd be worth a shot if it makes me close my mouth?"

Since he had escaped a certain death a few hours ago, the woman let his delirium enter her ears like a gust of wind. The unreal, cheap bargain was enhanced by the high importance Arthur gave it.

While he kept wiping the dripping fluid, he looked in front of him without locking his eyes anywhere.

He knew he could add salt to the injury, so he did. "Why are you interested in such a petty matter? Are you not rich enough? You wouldn't know what to do with such a treasure anyway."

The wyrmfolk opened her maw wide, showing three rows of sharp fangs decorating a black abyss that led to her stomach. Her laugh shook the walls and the windows. She slapped the frame of the bed to externalize the sudden threat.

"It's been years since I've been threatened, and even longer since someone dared to mock me!"

Arthur was too dehydrated to gulp down his saliva without choking on it. Instead, he waited for her to calm down, she moved to the poster on the wall and brought it to him, and her tail wiggled slightly faster.

"That's me. I'm worth a hundred crowns."

"Wanted." The boy articulated. "Indeed. Five zeros but quite bad handwriting. Bast... Avila."

"The life expectancy of the ones with a six-digit bounty is short, trust me, and the one of those who come across this type of bandits should keep their mouth shut even without a cheap hostage. Their lifespan is much, much shorter."

The boy mumbled. "Why sign autographs on your bounty? Isn't it painting a target on every place you're visiting? You're seeking attention, it's obvious."

He knew the weight of his words wasn't enough, so he embellished the finality of his quest instead of criticizing his host.

Arthur made his determination revolve around Lancelot's last gift. One lonely sentence resounded in his mind, one with the voice of his

bodyguard. 'Equality is about giving everyone an equal chance, not an equal result.'

Looking at Bast with a feverish eye and without moving his face away from the paper, he clicked his tongue. "What I will lay my hand on won't change your condition, it will change the essence of every criminal in this kingdom. The very reason that pushed you to commit your first crime will be no more. Is it any cheap to you?"

Bast moved closer to the boy, halving the comfortable amount of space on the bed. "Let me be clear, boy." She put a few seconds of silence during which she brushed her spiky hair backward with enough strength to let her biceps appear in all their mightiness.

"You're learning fast, very fast. But that's far from being enough." She took back her bounty and retraced her signature with her clawed finger.

"That's no common dialect. And that's written. Added to the ridiculous outfit alone, it's easy to say where you came from, you well-educated moron. You have no idea what led me to my present self because you've never walked in my shoes."

Her fingers spread the boy's lips without any struggle, and she slowly blinked. "See? Perfect smile, not a scar on this cute face of yours. Have you ever felt hungry? You're a blue-blood that lost everything. You, Lance, are at the turning point of your life. It can only go worse by now."

The terrible pain crawled its way back to his injury. It was overwhelmingly intense for someone who never knew the depths of suffering. He whispered. "I'll lift from your shoulder the burden of your chaotic life and make for everyone a better place in which they'll live happily."

Fatigue took over his fading spirit.

'Milda almighty... This is... A real person, with real words.' He thought, becoming teary again. Lancelot's last gift, freedom, turned out to be exceptional. Finally, a smile appeared on his face, letting the salty water enter his mouth and moist his lips.

He knew he was exposed, but he couldn't help shivering at the only thought he was having a real conversation.

"You are wonderful." He said, losing consciousness.

The wyrmfolk caught his head mid-fall and delicately made it land on the pillow. The veteran thief was torn between two choices.

Take the child as a hostage without having a clue about his real identity or the value of his life, or give the boy a chance to bring her more money.

The fact his first and last sentences mentioned a revolt against the current ruler, a burden he, alone, would take, and a brighter future for everyone else but he lit Bast's fiercest feelings.

"Fuck!" She shouted, refraining from disintegrating the door in a violent slam.

Arthur had a dream. One in which he saw the many blurry faces of the townspeople, the orphans he passed next to, the merchants bargaining a few cents, and beggars with only two fingers untouched by diseases.

The hubbub of the city resounded through the walls and the structure of his wooden bed. The thousands of information he got from his first trip outside were studied through his deep slumber.

The prestige, the caged life he lived until now was no hell compared to the abandoned lives next door. The issues coursing through Tash were an interminable labyrinth reflecting the ruler's faults.

All of the problems he noticed had been kept away from his sight because his fate was to never see the light. The empathy his parents never had destroyed the citizens and their children at a slow pace, their misery was ignored this way.

He rose hours later, with a flaming determination to rebel against his father. He muttered all his strength to stand up and stay awake.

On the bedside table, he noticed a small pouch with a scribbled label, 'biting-curry'. A spice well-known for its ability to numb noses only by its fragrance.

Arthur put a pinch of it on the palm of his hand, spat to humidify the powder, and clenched his jaw before applying it to his hair. He couldn't avoid the injury as he didn't know the length of the wound behind his head.

He now had short orange hair with a terrible desire to sneeze his lungs out.