[Private - Requiem & Zhyriad] Crossing Paths

The Following thread is for use by Requiem & Zhyriad only. Any comments, be they praises or criticisms, should be directed to our profiles should they come up.

Characters:
Requiem - Malisa Jals
Zhyriad - Glyde Adrian Savian ​

Awaken by the unmistakable whistles of the first morning trains passing above, Glyde slumped up from his bed. He sat upright in his bed for ten minutes, his eyes watering, and his head still burning with an ache from the night before. "Damn. Weekday," he muttered, forcing himself further out, touching his feet to the carpet. There, he sat for another five minutes, taking a swig of from the cup of water he had left upon the stand beside hi cot. It felt a little bit better, but it still wasn't perfect. Maybe if he had gotten those pills before the shop closed up, or if he just not spent the previous day drinking himself down the hole. Now that he was experiencing a workday hangover for the first time, he figured it would be best not to binge at the end of the weekends.

As another train passed overhead outside of his back alley "hole in the wall" home, and he decided at last to get ready for work, if it could even be called that. It wasn't too much of a task; simply a matter of throwing the green-gray jumpsuit on over the shorts and tee shirt he had worn to bed, and throwing on a pair of work boots. Working town cleanup was practically a do nothing job, that almost always ended up leaving him with nothing better to do than sit around the "trash nexus" waiting for a load to come in for sorting. He'd have liked nothing better than to be fired from the monotony, and move on to work a bit more suitable, like finishing the train station's tower renovations, or maybe even scraping up some sort of work someplace down on the beach.

Unfortunately, he was confined in his work, as they never fired anyone from clean up. That was the cost of a boring, do nothing job, after all. And the beach was right out, since orders from The Grandmaster himself were that Glyde wasn't to leave the areas of Market Street and Sunset Terrace. And of course, being a street performer was well out of the question, since his only possible acts were forbidden now. If he'd known that being a Keybearer could have had such ramifications for failures, then he would have just stayed away from The Academy in the first place.

Finally ready to head out for the day, he stepped out from the padlocked gate into the back alley. After double checking for his key, he closed the locket, leaving his "house" closed up for the day. "It's sunset alre--," he started saying before mentally slapping himself. "It's always sunset here." Shaking what remained of his headache to the back of his mind, he set off to the downtown repository.​

 

“Same old same old.” Cutting through town, out from the back alleys and onto Market Street, Glyde found it cluttered with the usual crowds. The same faces looked out from the shop windows, hounded over by the same bargain seekers. As per usual, the population of the town remained unseen, for there were rarely more than fifty people in a given common at any one time. There was no mistake that it was peaceful, but peaceful, at this point, meant boring.

Reaching the bottom of the hill, Glyde happened upon his destination, a discrete garage door on the side of a large building. It was closed, and revealed, after he gave it a tug, to be locked. “Looks like I wasn’t the only one who slept late.” Digging around for a few short seconds through one of the large pockets on his jumpsuit, he removed a key, which slid perfectly into the hole above the garage door handle. Just a second later, the repository’s unloading bay was open.

Just as he thought, there was no one else around; they had either slept in, or they were planning some prank or another. Whatever the case, Glyde thought, he was managing the clean up task at HQ today alone for a while. It didn’t trouble him too badly, save for the inevitable boredom. If anything, it might end up meaning a few more minutes of napping off his headache.

Taking this as what little relief as he could, he took a seat next to a chair along the side of the unloading bay, in a sort of “stage wing” area that was out of the way of the actual loading. “Uh!” he groaned as he leaned back in the chair, “what’s the point of a having a trash clean up crew in a town if there’s never any trash to clean up?” He leaned a bit further back, and closed his eyes. A nap seemed like a good idea.​

 

"Savian..."

Glyde shook his head as a dream-hushed voice spoke out to him. He didn’t want to wake up, it was just too a nap to let go of.

"Saviiiiian..."

He half felt the touch of a rough hand jerking his torso back and forth. Still he wouldn’t wake. “Go away ma’am,” he stuttered out. “It’s sunset, I don’t have to go anywhere now.

“Looks like he needs the special treatment Lan. Knock ‘em one…”

“Heh!” Glyde chuckled at the thought so being knocked one. “Won’t fell a thing, he said, convinced that he was in fact dreaming the voices, and the shaking. Hoping to entertain this thought, he opened his eyes, just in time to see a clenched fist drive into the side of his face. Before he could get a word out, he was out of the chair, gripping his jaw, and glaring coldly at the two men who had joined him.

“Lan,” he said with a nod to one, a shorter, burlier looking young man around his age, with a dark tan, and a shaven head. “Bryant,” he sand to the other, an older gentlemen, with a fuzzy mustache and a sarcastic gleam in his eye. “I see even the big boss felt it necessary to take some time off today. Wish you would have told me about it before I woke up this morning.”

“Aye,” Bryant said in a genuinely reassuring tone. “That I should have. Ya know? Seeing yours and Lan’s shift is already half over with little incident, I’ll let ya off early. Go get some rest boy. Lord knows you probably needed, by the looks of ya.”

“Really?” Glyde said, amazed at his luck. “Thanks Bryant.” Relieved, though a bit let down all the same, he gathered what little he needed to, and headed out, taking a generously offered extra munny from Bryant for having manned the repository solo during the day.

Unsure of what to do, or where to go for the rest of the day, he exited the bay, and looked around the plaza. “Maybe find something to eat,” he said aloud. Or… I don’t really know. I guess food it is.” Deciding upon eating, he headed across the common. There was small pub, almost literally a hole in the wall, on the other side. They weren’t great, but they were affordable, and not too shabby. “Sounds like a plan,” he told himself. ​

 

Enjoying a clam, cooling breeze that swept through the plaza, Glyde made way to the pub. A short tree-minute walk saw Glyde in another back alley, staring up at a rickety looking sign above an inconspicuous doorway. “The Backstreet Pub” was what the sign read, and from the aroma emanating from the other side of the door, there was probably some good eats to be had on the other side.

Glyde walked in, feeling before anything else, the pungent smell of cooking mixed with ales and cigar smoke. It would have been unbearable, had not been coming here to eat everyday in the passed month. Ignoring the smells, and for that matter, the low pitched mumbling chatter of the pub’s patrons, he edged his way passed the crowded bar area, looking for a smaller table, preferably for a single diner.

“Oy!” shouted the bartender after a moment, finally recognizing him. “Come back to get hammered again, eh, Savian?” A grizzled, oily looking man glared out from behind the bar at Glyde, chuckling at his own joke.

“Nah!” Glyde said, to the man, waving his hand as though to swipe the comment away. “Not today. Still feeling the hangover from last night anyways. Maybe a water or something for now. I’m here for a meal, and not much else.”

“Well bless my soul,” the bartender remarked, mockingly placing his hand over his heart, “for the first time, the boy WON’T be getting tossed out a drunken wreck. Ha ha!” This time, the bartender was joined by the jeers of his ‘inner circle’ the few regulars who could drink their bodyweight without any side affects. They knew the bartender well, and could always see things his way, even if those ways were a bit cynical, and sharp-witted to an extreme.

‘Yeah. I guess it is a miracle.” Turning his back on the bartender and his posse, he continued edging his way to the further reaches of he pub, and stealing himself a seat at a lonely two-seater along the back wall, where the crowd was thinner, and less obnoxious.​

 

The pungent, stinging air of the pub had finally begun to settle uncomfortably in Glyde’s throat. Not a debilitating thing, and not even very painful when it came down to it. More or less, it was an annoyance, to have the taste of smoke and ales latched onto the inside of his mouth. It was one of those tastes that people just couldn’t wait to rid themselves of once it was there, even though they had almost welcomed it for their own satisfaction. To the regulars, there was immunity to this; but to the newcomers, and people like Glyde, still settling in, there was no more than an extended tolerance.

Calmly, he initiated is remedy, taking a hefty gulp from the glass of water a server had left at his table. As the cool, tasteless substance flowed through his mouth, he felt the pub’s filter away in the stream. He felt the pub one last time as the drink settled in, giving him a slight burning sensation before ridding itself entirely.

Satisfied so far, he leaned his chair back onto the back two legs, watching the activity unfolding at the bar with peaking interest. He had only just checked into things, but from what he could understand, someone new to town had somehow given the bartender the wrong sort of money. He thought it w bit strange that a traveler would have the wrong money at all, since all worlds tended to operate under the same currency. Maybe they had actually come from one of those backwater worlds that he had heard about back in the day, the ones that were outside of the Light, though not quite in Darkness, and hence, followed neither one’s customs.

The scene escalated even further.

From the bar, he heard the sound of a woman’s voice, shouting something about how “the law could try her.” He couldn’t right make out the visuals of the scene; the crowd in the pub had all amassed around the bar as soon as things had started to get out of hand. He looked around, wondering if anyone was actually going to be a responsible adult, and find a peaceful solution to the conflict. No one was doing much anything though, outside of watching the woman and the bartender stare each other down over the munny issue.

Then, the one thing that could have made Glyde’s heart sink lower than it had all month happened. Someone did indeed step up to quell the conflict. A younger looking man, with short, spiked blond hair, and a deceivingly serene smile had started pushing his way into the mass of spectators. “Vance Scype,” Glyde muttered. Vance had been amongst the Kyebearers to leave the Academy with him as an Apprentice four years ago. He had also been one of his closest rivals under the same mistress at the time. If he had learned anything about Vance, it was that he was a selective person, and would immediately find favor in the bartender’s side of things.

Seeing this as trouble, considering that a Keybearer would probably smear anyone else in the pub about in an instant, Glyde threw himself from his seat, and pushed through the crowd to talk some sense into his old rival. He got the inner circle of the mass of people, finding Vance ready to confront the young woman at the bar. He had already spoken the words Glyde had imagined him saying: “Ma’am, the bartender has every right to ask favor of you for not having gotten the right currency to pay for your meal. Now, if you would kindly oblige…”

“Yo, Vance,” Glyde said coolly, putting himself a foot away from the Keybearer. “How about you lay off the outsiders for once. Or am I gonna have to work you over the way I used to?”

“HA!” jeered Vance, gapping in a sinister smile at Glyde. “If ain’t this clown. What happened to you? Banished, I heard, ya? How do intend to work me over without your precious little Marksman?” He mocked Glyde further by summoning his Keyblade, Dark Phoenix, a blade of black and purple coloring, having the form of a phoenix resting at the top, the tail twisting along down the blade into the hilt. “You gonna work me over with a broken beer bottle?”

It happened almost instantly. Glyde’s hand found itself gripping the neck of a glass bottle, smashing it against the bar into semi-lethal glass tips. “Yeah,” he chuckled. “I was thinking something like that.”​

 

For a moment, there was nothing to the pub other than Glyde and Vance. The former was overtly trying to act the "cool and calm" civilian do-gooder. Whether he was doing a good job at or not, the witnesses probably wouldn't have been able to tell. In any case, Glyde felt he was making good on his way, though was completely oblivious to the attention he had been garnering for himself. Not once did his eyes leave Vance's face. "What?" he started to taunt his former colleague. Maybe he was still a bit out of it, as all he could come up with in his head to follow through with was 'you chicken,' which wasn't nearly enough to stir Van.

It didn't matter what he'd have said to Vance in the long run. Before his next cliche could escape his lips, he had been pushed back and impeded by another person. She stood between him and Vance, with a raged glaring at him in rage. It was only then that Glyde realized who had stood up for. He knew the young woman by way of combat. Not killing her in the tournament a month prior had been his ticket back to town, and his dead end lifestyle.

"Eh! It ain't my fault I live here," he said to her, backing off slightly. Who'd have he been to have ever even thought of meeting with two people from his past in the same place on the same day? Much more radical, to have thought he'd run into two people from his past that had reasons to hold grudge towards him... it was something he had never even learned to expect out of life.

As he stood there, he realized that he had turned into a rodent between two birds of pray. Malisa Jals had honed in on him from the front. Vance Scype had worked his way around to his side. The combination of the two left him with nowhere to run to but through the bar crowd, and back into the pub, where there was no exit anywhere else in the building; not through the downstairs anyways, but the upstairs was the bartender's loft, his home. Glyde would have no luck in getting out that way.

So it became a matter of the lesser of two evils. If he tried to get away from Vance, he'd have to go through Jals. She'd probably want to see him dead at this point. Breaking away from Vance to her in lieu would lead to a battle, and, unless he broke his conditions, he'd be left dead on the spot. If he ran from her, and took his chances with Vance... he'd be sent to The Academy courtrooms again, where he'd stand trial for obstruction of justice, be found guilty, and be sentenced to death. I think, he thought, I'll take my chances with Dorian a second time.

It took just another instance, in which he had discarded his shattered bottle in Malisa's direction, and made his break for Vance. Not being able to make such an omelet, as it were, without breaking just a few eggs, he chanced a light bit of spell casting, coursing a thunder spell directly from himself to Vance in passing. The shock wouldn't be much, just enough to have stalled him to provide an ample window for escape. Once passed, he pushed his way through the crowd, towards the front door, being serenaded along the way by a series of 'hey's' and 'whoa's.'

He reached for the door running on three feet in front of him, pushing it open. He was greeted on the other side by nothing but the tranquil downtown from which he had left not even two hours prior. Then the questions came to mind. How long would it take Vance and Malisa to get to him again? Would they fight each other over who got to take him down? And was The Academy already bearing down on the town, ready to find him? He'd need someplace to go, to hide out for a bit, until a search for him came and went, and he was deemed as having escaped to another world. Then maybe he could just resumed life here in some other capacity.

It all seemed a far cry.​

 

Calming himself with a few deep breaths, Glyde bounded in swift, steady strides further down the alley. Last he knew, this particular path lead out in someplace not quite as obvious.

“It’s over Glyde!” The piercing drawl of Vance’s voice carried down the alley, and his footsteps drew him closer to Glyde. “There’s no road ahead for you. The Academy is on its way as we speak.”

“Well, that’s lovely,” Glyde spat back sarcastically, though not turning around to face his pursuer. “I must say, it’ll be nice to at least get a view of the old courtroom again before I go the way of departure. Just what I’ve wanted all my life.”

“What?” Vance questioned, half-mockingly, half surprised. “You mean to say that you HAVEN’T read up on the protocol for dealing with banished bearers that disrupt procedure?” Vance was a mere foot behind Glyde now, and with a hard tug of the shoulder, pulled him around in a one eighty, such that he could stare him down. “If a banished Keybearer is found to be further provoking The Academy’s authority… they’re to be killed on the spot.”

“Wha?” Glyde paced back. He had hoped to dodge being in the death spotlight immediately on capture. Fear was now coursing through him heart, as he contemplated his next move. There was only one choice, and it would only lead him to more trouble with The Academy.

“That’s right,” Vance said with a wide, triumphant sneer. “In ten minutes, The Academy’s envoys will arrive on this world, and find nothing more than your limp, dead body, in the hands of… yours truly! So… it’s time, for you to say hello to destiny. Goodbye, old friend.” Keyblade in hand, Vance whipped his arm into the air, and threw the heavy blade down.

There was no flash of life before Glyde’s mind’s eye. Just a quick spur of the image of what he was going to do that came up less than a second before he did it. The next instant came, and the ringing clang of Keyblades clashing with one another filled the otherwise empty alley. Dark Phoenix, and Marksman were locked, like in days passed, and their bearers glaring at each with utmost contempt. “I’ve already messed up twice. I think I can shoulder a bit more.”

Not wanting to be playing chicken in a deadlock, Vance was the first to pull back… it was his mistake in the end. A second later, he was lying upon the ground, clutching the hole left by Marksman’s shot. He looked up furiously at Glyde, who stood before him, Marksman mounted across his shoulders.

“Have a good time with destiny, old friend.” ​

 

It had been a while since Glyde had felt it. That invigorating rush through his mind and body that only putting a shot through someone had been able to give him. A month ago; that had been the last time he had felt anything of the sort. Finally, he could see himself with a shred of dignity again, and what he felt more than anytying now was power, and control over his life. Somehow, it had been the act of defiance that had brought it all back. He’d have never thought that NOT following orders could have been so energizing.

Anyways, pleased with his sudden regain in ground, and the temporary triumph over his adversary, he walked back in the direction of the pub. He wouldn’t be running, not from The Academy. In fact, his feelings were now inclined the other way; he’d stand alone against the lot of them if he had to. But there was just one other thing that would have to be taken care of.

"Well, then, Mr. Tournament winner, have I got a stern talking-to in hand!"

He stopped, taking a moment to stare at the white haired young woman before him. When he had finally come to the point of talking, it was to speak in the same sarcastic tone in which he had spoken to Vance. “Why is it that the one day I get off of work early, I run into everyone that wants to kill me?” He threw Marksman onto the ground, allowing it to de-summon right as it hit the ground. In its place, he summoned Quick Shot, which he held against his head, barrel pointing for a kill shot.

“I suppose I could kill myself, and take away everyone’s satisfaction of getting to do me in. I bet if I did it right, I could make it seem like YOU did it. Then Vance there’ll get his ass handed to him for letting an unknown wielder do his job for him, and you… well, they’ll have you for just being absent from The Academy records, the ones that do actually exist.”

He de-summoned Quick Shot as well, and after, re-summoned Marksman, which he now held across his front side, like a hunter walking through the woods for his prey. “But then there comes the fact that I’d rather not give anyone else the satisfaction of doing in the people that I’ve been wanting to rough up for a while. So much conflict, eh?

“Anyways, we’ve got some time before the ships start flooding in here with Academy Knights. So what is it that you want to say to me?​

 

What Glyde could only described as an “awkward silence” hovered between him and Malisa. He looked at her about as bemused as she looked in his eyes. In the long run, she looked as awkward as the situation felt. Regardless of this awkwardness, he had been expecting something more in the lines of a yelling and shouting spree. When it didn’t, Malisa dropping her pointed finger, evidently at a loss for words, he was both shocked, and relieved that he wouldn’t have to fight her again… seeing as he’d have to fight about twenty trained Knights in a good five to ten minutes.

“I’d say you best be thankful that it was just your arm that I nearly took off,” he responded in a mocking chuckle. “My orders were to kill you, which I, undoubtedly, could have pulled off at the end of that little match of ours. I chose not to… why, I’ll never be able to rightly say. Whatever. The bottom line is that you’re right. You’re not inured, for certain, and it is pretty obvious that you are still alive… so yeah.”

He took a quick gaze around. It seemed as though the town was already being put under lockdown. “Vance must have called in the troops at the pub,” he said. “They’ll be here soon, and we’ll not be having too much fun when that happens, unless we both enjoy having a squad of Keyblade Knights on our tail all across town. Personally, I look forward to being able to put it to them a bit more.” He looked to the sky, wherein the ships would eventually arrive, combing over the town. “Your call if you want to stay or not.”​

 

For a few seconds, all Glyde could do was stare oddly at her again. She wanted him to leave? I hadn’t been in his plan to split; he’d have rather just waited on Market Street. But then, now that she had mentioned it, there were a few places that he’d like to go. Much more, there were quite a few people that’d he’d like to see before he met with eventual fate. As she floated down the alley to him, he remained stationary, and nodded to her. As with hers, a smile appeared across his face. It wasn’t a super cheerful one, but one all the same.

“To tell the truth,” he said with a bit of uncertainty, “there is someone, here in town that I should probably see before I do anything else. Come to think of it, I’ve been back in town for a month and haven’t even tried to look her up yet. Guess I am a terrible so-.” Flustered at his own statement, he cut himself off in mid-sentence. “I guess the point is that I’ve kind of got someone to see over in the Sunset Terrace district. It’s on the other side of town.” He drew in a deep breath, and added on, “And I suppose I can wing it from there.” ​