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skvaderarts · 1 year

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Petrichor Chapter 38: Wanderer

Chapter 38: Wanderer

Note: I actually start a new job next week. It’s a temp position, but I hope it ends up being permanent because it sounds SO FUN! Unrelated, but I just wanted to tell someone! I hope you enjoy the chapter!

(-~-)

Sleepless nights bled into a delirium of distraction and defeat as he searched everywhere that they could possibly be for them and came up empty-handed. Head in hand and with his heart firmly planted in the very soles of his feet, he boarded the ferry to Fortuna in pursuit of the lead that had lost him everything. And with no acknowledgment whatsoever of the way the storm or the way that it had picked up when he’d arrived, he mosied aimlessly down the street, the crushing emptiness of true defeat and irreparable loss gripping him tightly and numbing him like frostbite in winter snow. This was all he had now, and he didn't even have it in him to fear losing it.

He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

“What are you doing out here in the storm?”

The words hit him like a bolt from the blue. He suddenly noticed the cold rain that had soaked him to the bone, the heavy winds, and the way his hair hung damply in his face. But most importantly, he noticed a man standing in the doorway of a small building with a concerned look on his face. Vergil realized that he probably looked certifiably daft right now, slowly dragging himself through the elements in his quest to go nowhere in particular. He wasn’t doing the best job of keeping a low profile, was he?

He just stared at the man, unsure how he could even begin to explain the events that had led him to this moment, or if he even wanted to in the first place. He felt as though he had been cast out into a turbulent ocean, treading water despite the inevitability of his drowning. Every time he let his mind wander for even a moment he felt his emotions overflow and every emotion conceivable overcome his resolve all at once as his chest heaved and his heart pounded.

He was scared, angry, and so very alone. And he just didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t find the willpower to continue, and he didn’t know how to distract himself. He just stood there and looked at her, drenched and completely and utterly done.

“I… I don’t know.” He admitted to both the man and himself. He didn’t know why and he didn’t particularly think that it mattered at this point. He just needed to get that statement off his chest and out into the universe. He was so overcome with exhaustion and disillusionment that he wasn’t sure what even kept him anchored in reality right now. Not that he wasn’t swaying in the winds a bit. “I did but I don’t anymore.”

“Come in out of the storm. The bar’s still open. You can warm up a little. First drink’s on the house. You look like you could use it.” The man held the door open and gestured for him to come inside, clearly unwilling to stand under the small awning that covered the top of the door ineffectively for much longer. He wasn’t dressed for this kind of weather.

“I don’t… “He didn’t bother finishing that statement. After all, who would he even be talking to besides himself? He sighed and simply approached him, complying. He could always change his mind later, but he didn’t have anywhere better to be right now. Perhaps he could regain his bearings for a moment and then set out with a plan of action if he stopped and took a moment to think. He would head inside.

As he stepped through the front door and his eyes adjusted to the drastically different lighting, he immediately noticed a few things. The bar was crowded and filled with patrons who were engaged in a mixture of activities, most of which involved alcohol. The bar was filled with what could only be described as pub music, though it was a tad more reserved than what he was typically accustomed to. A group of people played darts on one side of the room and each of the three pool tables not far from them were also occupied. The space wasn’t huge, but it was lively. It seemed that even the people of Fortuna found the need to unwind, even if they did so while still wearing their ordained traditional garb.

As he absentmindedly took in the scenery, he backed toward the counter and came to a stop just as the man who had stopped him at the door took a tall picture filled with a blond fluid and roughly sat it down on the counter. Before Vergil could say anything to the man that he no realized was probably the bartender, a patron approached the counter and nodded in thanks before seizing the glass and taking their leave. The bartender then turned his back to the young white-haired man and seized a small glass bottle that was on the back side of the bar along with its matching shot glass before turning around and placing them on the bar top.

“You look like you could use something a little stronger than a beer, pall.” He said as he slid the glass towards him, gesturing towards it with a tilt of his head. Whatever was in that bottle looked more vintage than the average swill that was being dispensed from the taps. Vergil didn’t exactly frequent establishments like this, but he knew enough to know that most places didn’t exactly keep the high-priced stuff on the standard taps. The glass bottles on the back wall were normally a bit more premium, and if the ornate design on the mostly empty bottle he’d just been given was anything to by then he was willing to bet that this was a relatively strong offering in comparison. It was a spirit, by the looks of it.

“I’m not thirsty,” Vergil said for lack of a better explanation in regards to why he wasn’t particularly interested in drinking at the moment. He didn’t really need to provide a reason, in truth. But due to the way that he had been thrust into the situation, he certainly felt like he did.

He’d never really been one to partake in that sort of thing outside of the occasional sip of wine with… her. But that was behind him now. Or he liked to think so. Incorrectly. He was in denial and he knew it, and the only positive that could be gleaned from that reality was the understanding that although he might be in denial, at least he was aware of it. But what did that even mean for him? Was it truly denial if you acknowledged it? And if he was aware of his own shortcomings did his lack of effort to do anything about them amount to acceptance, indifference, or an inability to change? How did one know what could and couldn’t be changed about themselves so they did not spend the majority of their time trying to alter the aspects of themself that they liked least but could not sway, and what did it say about them if they simply chose to do nothing when there was even the slightest chance that they could do something meaningful? Was inaction the same as acceptance?

If he kept up this line of thinking he was going to need that drink after all. He was spiraling. He needed to ground himself.

“Well, I’ll leave this right here in case you change you’re mind.” The bartender said with a chuckle. He wasn’t in the business of peer-pressuring folks into slamming down drinks. His business might not be the best on nights like this, but he wasn’t that desperate just yet and his morals certainly hadn’t eroded to that degree. “Fortuna doesn’t get many visitors, but the few we do, well, they always end up in my establishment. Or at least it feels that way. Can’t complain. Your money is just as green as everyone else’s. You passing through town?”

“Why do you ask?” His tone wasn’t quite suspicious, but his curiosity was certainly piqued. He had no reason to suspect any ulterior motives as of yet, but he was always cautious of the kindness of a stranger, especially one who approached him. And in a city like this that was known for shunning and distrusting strangers? All the more suspicious. One could argue that his profession had led to the development of a more personable demeanor, or perhaps the latter had led him to the former in the first place, but it could also be argued that he didn’t need a reason to be up to something.

The bartender chucked again, shaking his head. It was hard to tell if he was amused or actively taking pity on the young disheveled man. He just had one of those faces that were hard to read, but his eyes had a sort of unknowable but welcoming kindness to them that threatened to put him at ease lest he actively remind himself of the consequences that tended to follow when he allowed himself to relax. He was like a burly lumberjack with a soft heart. Perhaps a bit gruff, but totally easy to talk to and perhaps easier to trust. Unless you were the distrustful sort, that was. And even then…

“Because I’ve got an empty bed upstairs you can fall in for the night if you want it. Room isn’t made up yet but it’s better than freezing out front on the steps. Marginally less wet, too.” The man folded his arms around himself, scanning the room as if to assess the current state of things. When he finished silently taking stock of things he returned his attention to the man in the blue coat, his voice unchanged and still holding that same pleasant gravel. “Being soaked to the bone with the bay winds blowing through here is a no-go. Once that chill sets into your bones it’s not going anywhere.”

That actually sounded appealing to him. And the longer he stayed in this establishment, the warmer and cozier he became. He didn’t fancy going back out there now and wandering the streets aimlessly, unable to focus on the task that had brought him here. But now Vergil had his own question to ask. “That sounds… I think I would like that. What do I owe you?”

“Now you just stop there. Didn’t say anything about payment, now did I?” The man seemed surprised but not particularly bothered by the assumption that he would require payment. It wasn’t an unreasonable conclusion to reach, after all. This was a business. Those typically needed money to operate.

“All transactions require payment by definition,” Vergil said flatly, fatigue setting in. He needed it to be clear on where they stood. He didn’t have the reserve brain power required to think or worry about debts at the moment. “I don’t like to owe people.”

“That might be the case, but not every conversation with a man behind a bar is a transaction, either.” He shrugged, unbothered by the assessment. Vergil wasn’t completely wrong, but he was mistaken in regards to the entire point of this conversation. “And besides, I wouldn’t be able to call my business successful if I can’t treat folks in need to a warm bed and a drink every now and then. Times are never that hard. Not for me.”

“Why do this for someone you just met? Who’s name you don’t even know.” Vergil asked, admittedly surprised by the revelation that he desired no compensation for his overabundance of kindness. Good, selfless people existed. This was a fact that he was well aware of. He just didn’t run into them personally very often. And at a time like this…

“Simple.” He said as he lowered both the tone and the pitch of his voice so as not to be heard as he leaned closer to Vergil and looked him in the eye. “Because as enlightening as the Order’s sermons might be, and however filled with positive messages about how best to treat my fellow man their doctrine might be, I don’t need the words of the Order or a single one of their gospels to know how to be a half decent human being who shows his other people the bare minimum of compassion. I know that look in your eye. You’ve been through something. I just want to remind you that there’s still good in this world after all.”

Vergil just stared at him for a moment. He wasn’t entirely sure what he could even say to something like that. It was the truth. Morality and religion could walk hand in hand in just the say way that they could function entirely independently of one another. And they often did. He didn’t disagree with that conclusion in the slightest. This was simply the last place he’d expected to meet anyone who thought that way.

“Well said. I… I might have that drink after all.”

The bartender cacked a warm, pleased smile, and the young man with the white hair got the impression that it probably wasn’t in response to his decision to have a drink. At least not entirely. He was clearly glad that he knew he’d be staying, at least for the time being. That was one less drifter freezing to death in the streets for one night to worry about. It was something.

“Good. And when you’re ready for that bed it’s room 6 on the third floor. Keys are on the wall right over the bar.” He pointed to the hooks on the wall a few feet away, sets of numbered keys hanging from them. “Make yourself comfortable. We don’t close for a long while now.”

Vergil nodded in confirmation, somewhat amused by the fact that this man apparently wasn’t very superstitious. It was exceedingly rare to find a room number with a 6 anywhere. And in a town like Fortuna? That had to be a room that only outsiders rented. Everyone on this island was probably apprehensive about that decision. It must be his lucky night. “I just might. Thank you.”

(-~-)

I hope you enjoyed the chapter! I think chapter 40 will officially be the end of this Arc, and although it’s been a wild ride with a lot of difficulties, it’s also been a total blast to write. And I can’t even begin to tell you how excited I am about the next arc! So much is going to happen! The last 40 chapters just flew by, didn’t they? Thank you so much for continuing to read this story. I hope I’m not getting too bogged down in the details and that I’m not boring any of you. Thanks for sticking with me. I’ll see you in the comments if you’d like to chat, and, as always, take care! I’ll see you next Friday. The new job starts Thursday, and I don’t know my hours yet, but I’ll keep you all posted. I’m happy to say that my hand feels MUCH better, so here’s hoping!

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