Those Who Would Not Be Gods

12. Second: Raff

Steel clanged against steel, startling Raff awake. His heart lurched into high gear, beating a too-rapid tempo for so early in the morning. He clasped his hands to his ears as the racket continued, building to a crescendo as someone relentlessly attacked the bars with a steel bar. Protests echoed from down the hall as the other thieves, heretics, and sundry prisoners were woken. Sab shouted something, not that Raff could hear it over the ruckus.

With one last hit, the sound faded. Finally able to orient himself from sleep, Raff blinked at their assaulter.

Oily bangs and a pretentious smirk greeted him. "Good morning, criminals," Pasquale said, voice sickly-sweet. "Looks like the Shrine finally realized where you no-names belong. What crime did you commit to finally get yourselves locked up? Assault? Oh wait, they've been letting that one fly for years. Let me guess... what do no-names usually do? Hmm... vandalism? Pan-handling? Prostitution?" He snapped his fingers, and his face lit up. "I know! It must be rape!"

Raff bared his teeth at the other man, in no mood to deal with Pasquale except for in the form of a back-alley brawl. "Come here to gloat, you slimy git?" he spat.

"I don't have that much free time," Pasquale said, taken aback at the very suggestion. "Who'd visit prison for some no-name scum, anyways? No, no, I just so happened to get the honor of guarding the cells this morning." His smile widened, showing too much gum. "And what a wonderful honor it turned out to be."

Sab put a hand to Raff's shoulder before he could reply and stepped forward. "So you're here to let us out?" he asked calmly.

"Let you out?" The smile became a smirk. "Oh, I don't know if I heard anything about that."

Raff lunged at the man and was only just held back as Sab caught a grip on his shoulder. Pasquale? Pasquale, of all people? A million tiny injustices came flying back to him at once, a billion times Pasquale had found some way to turn the screws on him and the other no-names. And now he was going to keep Raff from attending the trials. A rage like Raff had never felt before surged in his heart. The injustice. The unfairness. What gave Pasquale the right? But there was no one here to correct him. No one to set the scales right.

"Oh my, such viciousness." Pasquale tutted. "Maybe another night or two in the cells will set you right." He walked right up to the bars, close enough Raff wouldn't even have to try to get a good punch right on that awful arched nose he was looking down. "Poor breeding will ruin a dog."

That was it. Raff shook off Sab's hand and started forward, drawing back a fist to punch. Sab caught him around the waist and held on, slowing Raff down. "Let go," Raff growled, staggering forward. He was almost—almost within reach—!

"If you hit him, he'll have grounds to hold you for another day, just like he wants!" Sab hissed into his ear. "He's trying to provoke you! Calm down and think for a second!"

"I don't care," Raff muttered back, struggling forward another step. As long as he could break that stupid nose, it'd all be worth it. Pasquale was going to delay him until he was too late for the trial one way or another, so he might as well get a good punch in.

Pasquale smirked at him, daring him to try.

"Raff, they gave Cecile a second try when she missed that trial earlier, didn't they? They'll give you a second chance. But not if you hit him."

He hesitated. Right, they had. He looked up at Pasquale and his oh-so-punchable nose, temptation calling his name, then stood up and stopped fighting. Sab let go, but stayed within reach. If he gave up his chance because of Pasquale, he'd never forgive himself. "You're not worth it," he told Pasquale, shaking his head as he turned away