Cold Smoke

Method to my madness

"Wait-!"

"Hang on-!"

"Stop-!

Reaver's grip on Winter's arm was unbearably tight. Whether or not it was deliberate, he was not sure. All he knew was that he was being dragged forcefully by this man through the damp darkness of cartel's refuge, his working eye not quick enough to register his surroundings immediately. Flashes of murky candlelight whizzed past his vision, and he blinked rapidly.

The echo of voices was amplified by narrow walls and confined space. Clamour of voices melded into one loud mutter of questioning. Were these Reaver's workers? He would have to introduce himself to complete strangers; junkies and dotards with no other career available. He could almost imagine their disapproving glares and scattered grimaces.

Winter's feet went into spasm as he waded messily through the darkness, and he lost his balance, his heart skipping a beat. Toppling forward, his face was planted against Reaver's back, who had luckily grinded to a halt that very moment. His face buried in the man's waistcoat, he jerked away quickly, feeling the deplore seep through him instantaneously.

Standing upright, he backed away from Reaver, registering his surroundings once more.

Instead of being in the midst of addicts and old people, doe-eyed children gazed back at him. They circled him, brows furrowing impertinently. They were clad in overalls and other dirtied garments; knees scrapped open and scarred, goggles and face masks covering half of their tiny faces. Their height varied from short and stocky to tall and lanky. Half of them had only just gone through puberty: faces marred with smallpox scars and faint moustaches, grease practically cascading from their foreheads and coating their noses.

Winter's thoughts were cut off by Reaver's booming voice announcing, "My dear..." he paused, clearing his throat. "...friends," his arms were wide and his voice enthralling. The children were enraptured.

The young man stepped over to Winter, placing his hands either of his shoulders. His grip was firm and unmistakably overly enthusiastic. "I present to you our new member of our family," he shoved him forward with a sharp push, indirectly asking him to say something.

Winter's heart raced. Not being used to being seen was taking its toll on him, and the silent stares of the children pierced through him like daggers. A lifetime alone and in the dark, and now suddenly, being known and seen.

It was humiliating, but oddly exhilarating.

The children muttered quietly amongst themselves; Winter's ears picking up the odd mention of his poorly bandaged face or messy appearance.
Reaver cleared his throat loudly, a sign for the young man to say something.

Anything.

"Oh-! Erm..." Winter's voice shook and faltered. "I'm Winter..."

Reaver scoffed at his maladroit.

The variant of children nodded their heads in acknowledgment, quiet greetings being thrown at him. A mixture of cheerful recognition and huffs of contempt were patched around, and as quickly as the children congregated, they dispersed. Pulling their face masks up to their mouths, and tugging their goggles over their beady eyes, they returned to their workstations, quiet chatter amongst them.

Bemused by the lackadaisical nature of the children, Winter spun around to see Reaver hiding a chuckle behind his hand. He wasn't quite sure if the children liked him or not. Was that a sign they did, or didn't like him? Were they always so passive?

He exhaled sharply through his nose, shrugging his shoulders.

"They're delightful," Winter's tone was mordantly sweet. "Can't wait to get to know them."