" last night "

Chapter 2

     An overseer stood behind the watch officer. Too stunned to say anything (the sheer amount of blood splattered across the street was incredibly disturbing), he simply cleared his throat nervously.
     The officer only turned his head. It wasn't the smeared blood on his face or his tired, bloodshot eyes or the long slice from his scalp to his cheekbone that unnerved the overseer; it was the smile that the watchman gave him. Now that the initial horror and anguish of the casualty had set in, Darion must have begun going into shock.
     "What, here to preach the Litany?" he said, voice deadpan. Tears were still streaming down his face. Despite the forced smile, he looked utterly defeated.
     Even through the blood and grime and detached expression, the overseer recognized the man. He was an officer, part of the elite guard. One of the more sociable, considering that he was infamous for flirting with any man within walking distance. However, that obviously wasn't on his mind, considering the man was likely minutes away from bleeding out.
     Despite the dead look in Darion's eyes that very clearly said, "Please do me a favor and strike me down right here", the overseer quickly snatched up the watchman in his arms and sprinted for the walkway underneath Clavering Boulevard, climbing over the creaky pipes and crumbling rocks with a bit of difficulty from the added deadweight, until he dropped down into the street.
     Darion's head lolled to one side, against the overseer's shoulder. He was tired and a bit delirious. The sound of the overseer's rapid footfalls and panting were fading in and out as Darion faded in and out of consciousness. He blinked slowly and weakly gripped the other man's coat.
     "What...what are you doing?" Darion asked blankly, eyebrows furrowed.
     The overseer narrowed his eyes behind the golden curves of his mask. "Helping you, idiot. What does it look like?"
     The watchman just slumped in his arms. "Leave me to die. I'm not—I don't... Just... Leave me, or do me a favor, and put that sword of yours to—"
     "Shut up," the overseer hissed, "and stay still."
     Both were silent for the rest of the trek to Holger Square. Even as the overseer barked commands at his brothers in the Order, Darion still couldn't figure out why he had helped him, or why he had even ventured to Bottle Street in the first place. Surely he heard the screams and would rather keep his life than risk it for another. A would-be selfless act such as this was rather baffling.
     As it was, nobody at this time was likely to lend a helping hand, not to mention this man was an overseer, the least likely to help.
     Deep down, Darion was probably thankful he hadn't left him to die, but that didn't ease any of the emotional pain he was feeling. He was scared and tired and angry and silently grieving. He just couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that his friend was gone.
     Carefully, he hooked his singed arms around the overseer's neck and tried not to be such a dead weight. Darion was cold. Miserably so. His loss of blood didn't make the situation any better, but it did make things considerably more gruesome.
     "Hey, hey! Don't you pass out, you're not gonna die, understand?" the overseer snarled as he quickened his pace.
     He was almost to the backyard now. The officer sighed exhaustedly and held on tightly to the overseer. He was warm, and it was a bit of a comfort in this overwhelming situation.
     Darion pressed his face against the other man's neck. The overseer was determined to keep him alive for some reason. It still didn't make sense.
     "Talk to me," he said in a softer tone. "What's your name?" They were in the backyard now. The infirmary was in sight.
     "...Darion."
     Only a few more steps. "Where are you from?"
     "I...I was born in Gristol. Parents came...from Tyvia. Never been, though."
     The overseer was setting him down on a cot now. Several others were gathering around. Darion didn't pay them any mind, he was still focused on the man that saved him.
     "Tyvia, huh? Where do you live now?"
     Darion cried out in pain when a cloth dripping with some cold, stinging substance was pressed to the slash on his face. He bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut, concentrating on breathing to calm himself.
     "Apartment...in the Estate District," he eventually responded, with some difficulty.
     "Got any family left?" The overseer could see he was struggling to remain conscious.
     "Two sisters. Third died when I was young. Oldest was exiled by my parents, I'm the only...the only one she talks to."
     His bloodied clothing was being peeled away, and his burns were being dressed. It stung even worse than the liquid on the cut. Darion wasn't awake to experience the majority of the pain, though. Blackness consumed his vision and mind before the first burn across his stomach was even properly cleansed.