"We'll get through this and then nobody'll mess with us."
The young man stumbled forward covered in the grit and sand. His long legs shuffled while ankle deep in desert that clung to him like a scorned lover. His arms hung limply at his sides, his left hand wrapped in a loose bandage and in his right a long barreled revolver that glinted in the sun. His eyes stared out at a horizon that wavered in the heat.
"It's going to be easy, in and out. We'll cover you, you just gotta run."
The long rabbit ears twitched as flies were already starting to make their claims on what they must assumed was an eventual meal. The young mans leathers that were meant to provide light weight protection creaked as he moved. The cloth wrapping underneath would have been good to keep cool if it wasn't drenched in sweat, drops of which dripped down from his forehead. His grey blue eyes would sometimes shut tight as one of those sweat beads found its way into the corner of his eye. The cloth over half of his face clenched to his face as a pattern grew on it from the sweat it had gathered.
"Take what you can and scatter! Shit, how could they have followed us?"
The gun in his hand glinted in the unrelenting sun. No sweat. No biting insects. No aching limbs. Just an almost mocking comfort as it rested in the young mans hands. The fingers of that hand, skin dry around the joints, contrasted aggressively against the dark wood and the smooth lines of the grip. His thumb with a broken nail idly caresses the cold black metal of the heavy hammer. The gun seems more real than the young man holding it. It is heavy like an anchor keeping him in that place. It brings purpose to the purposeless.
"You think you can just steal from the Garlean Empire without consequences!"
The young man stops. The hair on the back of his neck and arms stand on end before he is even aware. A cool breeze that would bring relief causes his body to tense up. it carries the a scent on it. Perfume, like a sweet flower. He remembers that smell... he remember that smell right before...
"Come with us and you might get your sentence reduced to military service, not that you will last long..."
His right hand tightens around the revolver. Eyes wide in panic, uncaring about the sweat that still drips into them. Breath comes quicker as his blood runs cold.
A woman's voice.
"Pick it up."
The young man swings around with the gun at the ready. He almost doesn't even realize that he is doing it. He seems like a natural, like he's done this hundreds of times before.
She's speaking in his ear.
"Pull the trigger."
The fingers in the right hand grip that revolver as if they were made for each other. Finger slipping into the trigger guard like a wedding ring. Thumb on the hammer like lovers consoling one another. His eyes traces a path down the long clean line of the barrel meeting the sight like it was destined to.
Her voice is smooth like silk and sweet like syrup.
"Make yourself something."
It all happens at once. Trigger pulled, hammer strikes, flash from the muzzle, bullet flies out, kick back from the firing. The pounding sound echoes out into the air and is immediately followed by another. A squelching wet sound coming from the young mans chest.
He touches it with his left hand, the dirty bandage is covered with a dark red. He looks down to see the the leather of his torso has been punctured. It all comes to him at once. It is not the pain he feels, it is his body rapidly failing. Breathing ragged, pulse erratic, vision blurring, light headed. He has only enough sense to turn around.
There he looks into panicked young eyes that are stinging with sweat. He knows because they are his. The gun in his hands being held steady towards him but there is someone else there. Like a shadow, right behind him. She smells like flowers and has a voice that is smooth as silk and sweet like syrup. She is holding the gun as if she is teaching him how to shoot. Both a cold comfort and a guiding hand.
His body finally falters, falling to his knees in front of himself and the specter. When his face hits the desert sand...
--------------------------------------
Kelta awakes with a start, gun already in hand. He points it at an empty wall in front of him. The wall provides no solace or answers. His one eye scans the room while the other eye remains shut. Once the room shows no signs of hostility all the tension from Kelta is released with a sigh. He is the image of the young man wander through the desert but with some notable differences.
On Kelta's biceps and across his back were tattoos with flowing patterns across them. Across his body, most notably on his right hand which appears to have been burnt. The lankiness of the younger figure has grown in, replacing the awkwardness with a certain finesse. Beyond that there is a confidence to Kelta, whether it is warranted is another matter.
The gun twirls in his hands with the type of dexterity one can only gain from it being someone's method to kill time. Kelta places the gun on the table beside the bed and looks at it for a moment. Its barrel has a certain faint shimmer in the lantern light of the room. Kelta catches himself getting drawn in by the shine and shakes his head. After putting on his eye patch he heads over to the window.
He gazes out on the cool bluish-white of the moon light on the desert beyond the walls of Dyrdania. Kelta stares out for as long as he could on the desert. It was easy on the eyes but he knew what was beyond that horizon. Turning his eyes to the streets more as a distraction than anything else has him following a guard patrol. The torches on the street blot out the moonlight with yellows and oranges that shine much like the light on his gun on their black armor. He sighs as he looks towards the front gates and can't help but stare at the flags that wave above them.
Red and black. A double squared symbol that everyone knew what it meant. It meant that you were part of something larger whether you wanted to be or not. The symbol of the Garlean Empire. Kelta couldn't help but narrow his eye at the flag for a moment before taking a deep breath. As he closed his eyes and let the cool breeze from the desert drift over him he muttered a single statement to himself, but it felt like someone else was listening.
"I gotta get out of here..."