Tattoo

Chapter 1

Even though it was dampened by mist and it continuously smelt of danckened mildew, a comforting odor that a well-acquaintanced citizen could find a hesitant comfort within. So did he, in walking through nye abandoned streets with clamped buildings clamped together and ages old, made of stone and plaster as was popular two-centuries ago. Uphill was his destination, and before him there was a grouping of familiar ragged cloth all huddled together in a futile attempt to keep warmed from the chilled early morning air; their barren feet slapping against the still wet cobblestone road. Laxus raised an eyebrow at their attempt for warmth, but his boots made a heavy impacting sound against the rock, and he found himself staring into their frightened expressions as they turned to face his sound, his eye twitched at the slight sympathy which wracked throughout his body at the pitiful visual they made. All children, covered by matted rags with dirt stained faces and blood dried on their curled toes, each of them far younger then he; by height: by decades; by probability: by only a few years. All of them were shivering, one even had purple toned seemingly red 'painted' nails, and Laxus knew well enough that the girl would be dead within the week, the sigh that escaped him at the knowledge surprised even his mind. Yet, he merely quickened pace under the denial of his own moral comprehension of his actions and clenched his teeth at the sight as he walked away from it.

Ahead of him lay the grand hall. One which even a citizen of the Darken Kingdom such as he; wished to be gone from all structure, for that same reasoning, he entered the building from one of their numerous side entrance ways as he ever did. A scowl unintentionally carved upon his scarred visage, momentarily, as he threw it to the chair furthest away: he clenched at the sun-warmed leather jacket in his hands a blanketed express playing upon his emotions as considerations flew throughout an adapt mind.

Of the many persons surrounding, staring upon him with their distant features of disinterest, he paid heed to only one, as his own orange eyes came to meet with a hostile blue, his shoulders instinctively drew back in preparation and his thighs tensed as he was met with a sneer and almost towering figure of his father standing over him in nye intimidation. No armour covered the man as it so often did with his increasing paranoia, instead he wore only his cloak and underclothes, a posturing of relaxation. Laxus's eyes twisted in evaluation of the odd calm disposition of a man he had always known to be posturing, controlling, and malevolent, his arms crossed over his most purple shirt in an automatic defensive pose he hardly acknowledged as it were; instincts flaring in incomprehension. In turn, Ivan gave him the amusement he might to an arrogant slave; prior to killing them. It riled the lacrima made dragonslayer as the feeling chilling down his spine was familiar enough to cause concern, his hands clasped to his elbows in discomfort, not knowing what wrong he could have done to gain such an expression from his father.

"Laxus, my boy, how was your job?" Unaccustomed to a polite, domicile, civility, Laxus dropped his arms away from their protection, and gave a glare of distaste, already irritated with Ivan's obviously faked attempt at gentle tone he walked to the small bar adjacent to the far wall -furthest away from the main hall- and ordered an ale, out his own need for something familiar rather then a particular want for a drink. Beside him, the man he recognized as little more then his guild-master leaned into the wooden counter himself, in Laxus's scrutinous gaze; already appearing the fool. Sitting on the stool by him, he gave his father a grunt in reply, turning his gaze to the smug express Ivan always managed to wear despite true disposition.

"What do you want?" His voice came out even unto his own ears, as that of an older man then he, of an experienced man. He deplored the loss of his own innocence in times such as these. But bore no malice to its callus destruction, for as he saw it within the depth of his own clarity, it was a better method then that of a slow revelation as he heard was common within the Lightened Empire of Fiore. He scrubbed his hands absently down his face, meeting with his large scar and with the several slight ones he often forgot were there, leaning over the bar with tensioned muscles and annoyed eyes. It was a rarity for his father to act in gentle nature, though it happened on occasion whence the man wished for a favour, a taxing favour. Laxus looked to the man, awaiting response, an arrogance of his own acknowledgement of this, replacing the ire and slightened fear he still held whenever facing his father. He gained in turn another smirk, much likened to his own; as Ivan gave away pretense, he handed over a slip of paper which his son snached away from his gentle grasp. A job request of sorts, Laxus knew, though it had been made directly by from his father's bad hand, written in cheap ink that bleed through the parchment, he was silent while he read, and sipped at his ale with a stoic express, suddenly intrigued by the job his father had decided to give him -twenty-three years old and it was still a rarity.