RP Adventures: The Shadow's of Caine

Allaster- Part 17

***We Do NOT own World of Warcraft!***

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       I have royally fucked up...again...again...! I scold myself as I follow after Candle. She got a good head start on me up the the stairwell, but I was closing in on her. I weaved through the crowded inn, pardoning myself frequently. My feet felt clumsy and the room is spinning. A piercing whistle fills my ears. I suppose I stood up too fast in combination with being too intoxicated for my own good...

      I didn't attempt to call out her name. She wouldn't hear me anyway. Instead, I cursed to myself the whole way up to our shared room, taking two stairsteps at a time.

       The air was balmy and warm. Only two rusted lanterns illuminate the dark space.

      Upon entering, I found her packing her few belongings into her backpack, seemingly preparing to-

      "Wait,- Candle... You're not leaving, are you?"

      Her eyes shift quickly between my lips and my eye, her hands all the while rolling her clothes tightly to stow away quickly. A new bow and quiver full of arrows rested on her bed as well. When had she bought those? 

      "Talk to me, damnit!" I growl, slamming my fist onto the small table nearest me and rattling the light. The shadows churn and my stomach dares to churn with them. 

      Candelion simply notes my gesture before standing up straight to deliver me her full attention. Her hands finally begin to move. 

      "There's no sense being so upset," she motioned and I held my breath, even madder. "I feel it is time for me to go-"

      "Go where?!" I don't even realize I'm closing the distance between us, and I'm effectively cornering her on her side of the room between the windowed, far-wall and her bed. "You can't just leave! It's a storm! It's nightfall, and- look- I didn't mean what I said down there- Uuph!" 

      In the next instant, the wind is knocked out of my chest and I'm stumbling backwards into one of the room's rickety chairs. The arm of the chair hits my already bruised ribs and I wince, but I wince even harder when I look up. Candelion is looking down at me like a venomous cobra. And despite her appearance- flared nostrils, wide eyes, and heaving chest- her sign gestures remain slow and precise. 

      "I am not upset with you,-," she started. This, I'm not entirely convince of. "But I am not your pet. And I am leaving, tonight, because I can. Because it pains me to be here. It is not safe."

      She stepped forward to lower herself dangerously close to my face. I find this behavior odd, but this is Candelion. A swirl of panic and excitement settled in my chest. I grip the arms of the chair tightly as my mind tries to process the meaning to her words. I consider the last week spent here... I know how little I'd seen her. I knew how dismissive I had been. 

      Her eyes roamed over my face. It was as if she was committing every inch of my half-disfigured face to memory. Those silver orbs glowed faintly. She was so close that I could tell where her pupils were, faint and obscure in their swirling haze. Her eyelids and upper cheeks etched with a hue of purple illustrations, like illuminations in an old tomb. 

      I felt then, the things I had been pushing down, beginning to resurface. The anger I had been displaying was just a mask for the real culprits at play. I wanted to be the old Allaster Caine. I wanted to drink and be merry. I wanted to be my old, witty self and schmooze with beautiful women. I'd been chasing after the life I had before this damned mess. But I had new scars, both visible and unseen. Ones I needed to push far enough down so that I could be the old me. Ones I wished to close up in a box and throw out into the sea.