Titus gained consciousness. His head, rather everything was in pain. He could feel a myriad of tiny pebbles under his hand, a chill wind carried the smell of salt from the north and a slight taste of iron in his mouth.
He patted his jacket for his sketchbook, it was accounted for.
The boy sprawled to his feet and tried to walk, but as soon as he put pressure on his leg, it buckled under a pain similar to a broken shin. He touched his right leg which the man in red grabbed with inhuman pressure. It felt normal but the pain disagreed,
Noticing the red and grey houses dotted his surroundings, he became convinced and relieved that he was back home.
Miguel... Damn it! He really can come here anytime.
Behind him, Asher's house existed in somber peace. It became a reminder to him of why he accepted his offer. Just the fact that he was placed beside the home gave Titus a clear message.
He had and still has the ability to easily turn his friend into collateral damage. There didn't need to be a verbal threat.
Titus craned his neck up to see a hill, he could vaguely see his house around the very top of the geographic feature. His lack of will and the unwillingness to lose consciousness again made him reluctant to use his niche. At least from that distance.
Titus sighed.
This will hurt.
…
Barely managing to enter the house through a back window that was luckily opened due to his own negligence he went to the bathroom.
In its mirror a rattled, bloody mess was being reflected to him. The pain he felt from being injured and losing to the man in red exceeded whatever disinfectant could do, and so his thoughts trailed towards revenge.
Dried blood and grime swirled down a blue porcelain sink as Titus gritted his teeth. He thought of the "Dom" as he nursed a shallow cut on his neck.
Damn that crazy lunatic, why would he push me off the roof for no reason? I will... He is terrifying though. I shouldn't dare think about it. How is a human possible of exerting anger as a physical pressure? He's a monster wearing clothes.
As he finished treating his wounds, Titus noticed grey markings in the fashion of English letters. The pattern was slightly rigid to the touch.
The Dom did that? Some sort of initiation mark? Tsk, I deserve more money for this s**t.
Closing the tap, he switched off the lights then hushed his way to his den. The smell of plastic tarps and acrylic paint greeted him with a recognizable, peaceful lull. The dull ache of his treated cuts and bruises forced Titus to take a little more rest.
. . . .
Sunday noon was brisk in Scotland, Titus and Zanze had changed from their blazers and canvases to something more comfortable. Both of them were polishing vintage artifacts that had been collecting dust in Zanze's study for a good half-year.
"Uvva, why is this taking so much time? Is there any way to clean these bones and swords faster?"
Titus complained, he was scrubbing an ancient rapier with a toothbrush and mineral oil. Zanze nearly snarled.
"How dare you call my Conquistador era espada specifically from the Arauca war mind you a mere sword. It's more than that! It took me nearly two decades to amass these rare pieces. I dug out every one of these artifacts with my own dusty hands! Show some respect to my work and don't think about damaging them. Good things take time!"
Yeah, when you're the one benefiting from it.
"Tsk, I'll take that as a no. Why do you want to clean them today anyways?" He asked.
"You already know why, how can I come back from an expedition with a new relic and add them to a dusty collection. Speaking of which, while I'm away, Uncle Scopper will check on you throughout the day starting next monday."
Zanze explained while drying a jade urn with a small towel.
"Oh, OK... Wait, that means he's coming to town. I'll be able to go fishing with him on his boat again!"
"Be careful, what are you doing to the hand-guard?"
"I'm cleaning it."
"Yes, that doesn't mean you should remove all the rust and make it look good as new. It's still supposed to look old."
"I'm sorry."
"Just give the sword to me."
The rapier was gently passed to a more caring hand. Zanze contorted his pointer finger to crack its knuckle, he then stood up to place it in the corresponding display while inspecting it.
He rushed back to Titus as soon as he could, hoping he wasn't damaging other artifacts. To his surprise and dismay, he was drawing in his sketchbook.
"How do you get good grades when you spend every free second scribbling in a book."
"I pay attention in class... Besides, wouldn't you like a sketch of the urn you polished?"
Zanze resigned to the couch and began polishing an antique pocket watch with a circular floral crest. Titus shifted to get a better look at the urn.
"Did I say you were done helping me?"
He asked while dusting the gears of the open watch design.
. . . .
Miguel was walking through the stony recesses of his stony outpost. Not a single ray of light natural or without reached the deepest layer of his castle. There he found solace and there he was at home.
After inspecting the former dungeon he sat down on the floor and whipped out his phone. His messages app was clicked on and it led to a group chat called the Printing Press.
Venha na quarta-feira, urgência da 6ª órbita (Miguel)
(Hannaca) . . .
(Hannaca) Por Que? Outro MSP
São informações offline, muito sensíveis (Miguel)
(Lúiiz) 6ª órbita?
(Lúiiz) Os comandantes não vão chegar com tão pouco aviso prévio.
(Lúiiz) (Mensagem apagada)
Você é estúpido, Luiz? As mensagens podem ser facilmente rastreadas (Miguel)
(Baljit) Sure, what time?
Aprenda português, mano (Miguel)
(Baljit) Nah, I'm always going to use google translate.
Venha às 4 (Miguel)
Miguel tucked his phone away and let out a sigh.
This week will genuinely be difficult. Could go without sleep a few more days before overdraft kicks in. I'm never transporting that kid again... On Aose.
Miguel's thought was interrupted by a reminder, he dismissed it then moved to another section of the castle's vault.
A door opened and inside was a vast plantation of all kinds of tea plants. The sterile UV lights blinded him for a second and the smell of earth and green was overpowering. After coughing slightly he walked inside.
The tea plants were arranged in neat rows, all being placed in white placeholders with an array of pipes and tubes hanging above them. Miguel took a mask from his pocket and wore it so that the effects of the different varieties of tea wouldn't affect him.
A crude climate control panel was fixed on top of a utility cart nestled between stacks of invoices, bags and notes.
Miguel pressed a button then a misty shower began to cover the greenhouse which aggravated the already humid room. He took a burlap sack and walked between a row of spearmint tea plants and Camellia Sinensis. He plucked a leaf then took a bite out of it. Immediately his heart pounded and a cold sweat broke out.
This batch is strong, might not have to grow another batch for a quarter.
He dropped the leaf on the floor and began to harvest the plants around him.
. . . . . . . . . . .
Oct 11, 2032.
4:48 am,
An electronic melody resounded in the dull static noises of the sea. An ethereal dream collapsed in a heartbeat giving rise to a disturbed groan. Titus opened his eyes to a blurry haze of art equipment, haphazardly folded clothes and a nightstand where blinding light shone from a phone with a two tone design of navy blue and yellow.
He blinked his eyes to regain his clear vision. Rolling to the left of his bed he reached out to the source of his vexation. Grabbing it closer to eyes, he dimmed the light of his phone and checked who was calling it.
Phone (020) 6713-5844
ShadyMullet Marauder (aka. Miguel)
Accept / Decline
A surge of wariness and misgivings filled his body, Titus tentatively answered the call.
"Come to the castle on Thursday by 5pm, you have some green to move to Edinburg."
"Huh? What do you mean go to Edinburgh, it's too early for..."
Miguel ended the phone call and left Titus with a bad start to his morning.
Is he good?
He hissed as he pulled the blanket over himself, trying to fall back to sleep. The effort was in vain, Titus grumpily stood up from bed and switched on the lights.
Adjusting to the brightness, he reached for clothes to wear then threw it on the bed. Removing his bonnet, Titus scratched an itch before going to the washroom. He shook his hair and ran his fingers through it to separate strands that were clumping together. He grabbed a spray bottle from an overhead cabinet and spritzed the root of his hair with meticulous precision and swiftness followed by coating his hair in rosemary oil.
After taking a shower, he went back to his den to prepare his canvas for a new painting. Titus acquired his small sketchbook from his drawer and a pencil to start the initial framework. Flipping through his pages he found the source of his next project.
He positioned the canvas on its length and began to draw for an hour. A crude outline of a rundown complex could be recognized. Broken chairs and empty bottles were the background of the canvas, a giant and an undersized human were busy cleaning and playing cards. A wide door was in the center of the sketch which showed nothing but obscurity.
Titus was somewhat pleased with himself, he woke up Zanze then left for school.