30th of Ymiden
Jonathan stood at the mouth of the Corner. Hesitating. He had his hand on the brick just inside the mouth of the notorious alleyway, staring down into it. He could see the depth of human misery that had been wrought here. The alleyway was always in poor condition from the addicts that housed themselves within it. There was the distinct odor of piss and vomit, and one could always here frantic mumblings spiralling through the wound Ne'haer had cut deeply in herself. Occasionally the little hum of muttering and fistfights was the occasional high keening scream of someone who had taken too much for their own good. A little stream of rot, sweet and cloying, strayed across Jon's nose. Someone was dead nearby. He wasn't surprised. No one cared about these people or if they overdosed and rotted. Jonathan himself had woken up to more than a few dead bodies. A man he'd been sleeping with when he was a child had overdosed and inhaled vomit in his sleep, and Jon had woken up to a corpse.
He had come here once to kill a drug dealer. Now he wanted to find one. He leaned against the brick and stared down into the alleyway. He had been feeling so stressed and guilty lately. Alistair's grand plan to wean him off Aberration was just producing more and more stress. Their argument was what had kicked it off. That urge. That little need in the back of his throat that beckoned him into oblivion. In truth, Jonathan had two Harvesters...and only one wanted ether. The other was a tiny animal in the back of his head that clawed and dug at his brain. There was only one way to silence it, and it had been getting louder as of late.
He rested his forehead against the stones, trying to take some comfort in the coolness of them. He had been clean for so long. This was dangerous. He didn't want to be the way he was. That animal was there, creating that itch in his skull. It had been asleep for two years when he'd dedicated his life to magic. Magic had crushed that animal into silence and had thrown it somewhere in the dark recesses of his brain. Stress and self-hatred had unlocked it. Alistair constantly told him that Aberrants were monsters. He thought of Sigurd, the little girl he'd forced to kill her own father. That pain and fear in her eyes. Hob flaying them both, dying man and mourning child. Killing bandits who had threatened him in horrific ways. Hunting down others just for the joy of seeing them flee in terror. All for the sin of crossing his path.
'Turn around and walk away.'Hob said quietly.
Jon ignored him, and walked down the three little steps that transformed Ne'haer from groomed streets into uneven cobblestones blackened with filth. Many people labeled the alley as dark, and it wasn't the most well-lit place on Idalos, but the filth coated it in a layer of blackness that seemed to suck out the sun. Even the walls were grimy, having suffered an assault of everything that came along with drugs and drug dealing. Blood, piss, shit, cum, sweat and tears. They were all written on the walls in varying degrees of senseless madness. If that weren't enough then there were the living examples. Men you couldn't tell whether they were living or dead curled up in strange positions. It was as if some god had sprinkled them between the buildings and failed to give them the ability to move their limbs. They'd simply collapsed where they'd fallen. There were men who shuddered, men vomiting, men clawing at their skin to scrape off whatever invisible bugs crawled underneath. Jon paused at one of the smaller capillaries; alleys within the larger one that had been worn down to nothing but mud and humanity.
Encapsulated there was his future if he went through with this. A woman half-naked with her legs spread on the ground, most likely being used as a rutting post. Jon couldn't see if she was breathing or not, and decided he didn't know which answer was worse. There was someone digging at his skin with a stick, mumbling about getting the worms out. He'd punctured at least ten to fifteen holes in his arm, some of them deep enough to expose bone. He'd be dead by morning. Two others who couldn't decide who got the first hit, and were fighting over the tiny glass bottle like feral animals. Jon heard the distinct tinkle of broken glass, and the pair of them escalated into a screaming, biting war. 'I do not want you here. Jonathan. As much as Alistair judges you for me, he would not have you here either. It is something that we would agree on without question. Do not do this.'
Jon stepped away from the tiny alleyway, and continued on. He saw a few dealers on the corners. They always made themselves available and visible. Like prostitutes they always tethered themselves to a spot with decent territory and customers. Jon was a little pickier. He didn't want a dealer into their own stash; they were more likely to cut it with something. He didn't want anyone too well-dressed either. That stank of the Etzos cartels and he didn't want to get anywhere near them. They were dangerous. A single dealer you could get rid of if he made obscene demands. A dealer with the factions of Etzos behind him could kill you in a hundred different ways from a hundred different faces. He wanted someone small and independent who was mid-range. Not low enough that other dealers or addicts would kill him. Not high enough to have power.
Jon saw him. A decently clean dealer who was looking around. Needing to make a self-imposed quota, or he wouldn't be able to eat. Motivated to sell, and motivated to keep from killing his customers. He'd have precious few of them as it was. Jon ignored Hob's last growled warning, and walked up to him. The dealer's eyes wandered up and down him. Questioned the furrows on his face. Jon had covered the crystals on his arms. Flashing those around was asking for a bunch of addicts to come chasing after him to chip them off. "I need some katomise." Jon said quietly. "And a syringe."
"Forty GN for the lot." the dealer grunted.
"Thirty was standard." Jon glared. The requisite fleecing of the new customer. But he wasn't new to this.
"Forty GN or you walk."
"Thirty-five."
"Forty, or stop wasting my fucking time."
Jon didn't have the patience for this. His will to take the drug was already flagging. He lunged at the man, and seized him by the throat. Such a sudden movement wasn't expected. Nothing in Jon's body language had given the dealer any expectation of being attacked. Jon didn't want to just attack him...he wanted to flay him. Abberant ether dug into the man's flesh, and Jon tore him into pieces. It was becoming easier and easier now, and the flood of ether in his blood gave him new motivation to forget. The dealer screamed, high and thin, then was silent. The corpse withered, becoming as grey and dehydrated as a dead thing in the desert. Jon lowered him gently to the ground, to avoid breaking any bottles, and dug through his clothing.
Eyes were watching. The death of a dealer meant the corpse had drugs and nel. If Jon had just stabbed the dealer he might have had fifteen crawling, skinny addicts on his back wanting to kill them both and rob them. But he'd used magic, and addicts were wary of it. Even so, he could feel Hob manifesting behind him, snarling a warning at the little skittering eyes staring out from alleyways. By the muttered curses and shriek, some of them clearly thought better of antagonizing the man with the monster. Jon rooted through the dealer's clothing. A small coin purse; he pocketed that. Then, rapture. Three little vials of katomise. Blue, and shining against his skin. Their azure depths called to him, surged through him. That little animal in his head perked up and cried out for them, reaching through Jon. The mage rolled them gently in his palm. In all his life he'd still never seen as deep a blue as katomise. Never experienced a better high. He tucked them carefully in his pocket, along with a single syringe the man had on him.
He wouldn't take it here. He'd wake up to men raping him, or slitting his throat, or addicts chewing on his crystal arms. He dropped the dead dealer and hurried out of the Corner as fast as his legs could carry him. Not fast enough to jostle the precious vials on his person, but fast enough to get away from all that threatened behind him. He could feel Hob travel next to him as long as they were still in the depths of the Corner, but the Harvester wouldn't risk him. When Jon emerged again he was just another customer trying to put some distance between himself and a very bad decision.
Jonathan stood at the mouth of the Corner. Hesitating. He had his hand on the brick just inside the mouth of the notorious alleyway, staring down into it. He could see the depth of human misery that had been wrought here. The alleyway was always in poor condition from the addicts that housed themselves within it. There was the distinct odor of piss and vomit, and one could always here frantic mumblings spiralling through the wound Ne'haer had cut deeply in herself. Occasionally the little hum of muttering and fistfights was the occasional high keening scream of someone who had taken too much for their own good. A little stream of rot, sweet and cloying, strayed across Jon's nose. Someone was dead nearby. He wasn't surprised. No one cared about these people or if they overdosed and rotted. Jonathan himself had woken up to more than a few dead bodies. A man he'd been sleeping with when he was a child had overdosed and inhaled vomit in his sleep, and Jon had woken up to a corpse.
He had come here once to kill a drug dealer. Now he wanted to find one. He leaned against the brick and stared down into the alleyway. He had been feeling so stressed and guilty lately. Alistair's grand plan to wean him off Aberration was just producing more and more stress. Their argument was what had kicked it off. That urge. That little need in the back of his throat that beckoned him into oblivion. In truth, Jonathan had two Harvesters...and only one wanted ether. The other was a tiny animal in the back of his head that clawed and dug at his brain. There was only one way to silence it, and it had been getting louder as of late.
He rested his forehead against the stones, trying to take some comfort in the coolness of them. He had been clean for so long. This was dangerous. He didn't want to be the way he was. That animal was there, creating that itch in his skull. It had been asleep for two years when he'd dedicated his life to magic. Magic had crushed that animal into silence and had thrown it somewhere in the dark recesses of his brain. Stress and self-hatred had unlocked it. Alistair constantly told him that Aberrants were monsters. He thought of Sigurd, the little girl he'd forced to kill her own father. That pain and fear in her eyes. Hob flaying them both, dying man and mourning child. Killing bandits who had threatened him in horrific ways. Hunting down others just for the joy of seeing them flee in terror. All for the sin of crossing his path.
'Turn around and walk away.'Hob said quietly.
Jon ignored him, and walked down the three little steps that transformed Ne'haer from groomed streets into uneven cobblestones blackened with filth. Many people labeled the alley as dark, and it wasn't the most well-lit place on Idalos, but the filth coated it in a layer of blackness that seemed to suck out the sun. Even the walls were grimy, having suffered an assault of everything that came along with drugs and drug dealing. Blood, piss, shit, cum, sweat and tears. They were all written on the walls in varying degrees of senseless madness. If that weren't enough then there were the living examples. Men you couldn't tell whether they were living or dead curled up in strange positions. It was as if some god had sprinkled them between the buildings and failed to give them the ability to move their limbs. They'd simply collapsed where they'd fallen. There were men who shuddered, men vomiting, men clawing at their skin to scrape off whatever invisible bugs crawled underneath. Jon paused at one of the smaller capillaries; alleys within the larger one that had been worn down to nothing but mud and humanity.
Encapsulated there was his future if he went through with this. A woman half-naked with her legs spread on the ground, most likely being used as a rutting post. Jon couldn't see if she was breathing or not, and decided he didn't know which answer was worse. There was someone digging at his skin with a stick, mumbling about getting the worms out. He'd punctured at least ten to fifteen holes in his arm, some of them deep enough to expose bone. He'd be dead by morning. Two others who couldn't decide who got the first hit, and were fighting over the tiny glass bottle like feral animals. Jon heard the distinct tinkle of broken glass, and the pair of them escalated into a screaming, biting war. 'I do not want you here. Jonathan. As much as Alistair judges you for me, he would not have you here either. It is something that we would agree on without question. Do not do this.'
Jon stepped away from the tiny alleyway, and continued on. He saw a few dealers on the corners. They always made themselves available and visible. Like prostitutes they always tethered themselves to a spot with decent territory and customers. Jon was a little pickier. He didn't want a dealer into their own stash; they were more likely to cut it with something. He didn't want anyone too well-dressed either. That stank of the Etzos cartels and he didn't want to get anywhere near them. They were dangerous. A single dealer you could get rid of if he made obscene demands. A dealer with the factions of Etzos behind him could kill you in a hundred different ways from a hundred different faces. He wanted someone small and independent who was mid-range. Not low enough that other dealers or addicts would kill him. Not high enough to have power.
Jon saw him. A decently clean dealer who was looking around. Needing to make a self-imposed quota, or he wouldn't be able to eat. Motivated to sell, and motivated to keep from killing his customers. He'd have precious few of them as it was. Jon ignored Hob's last growled warning, and walked up to him. The dealer's eyes wandered up and down him. Questioned the furrows on his face. Jon had covered the crystals on his arms. Flashing those around was asking for a bunch of addicts to come chasing after him to chip them off. "I need some katomise." Jon said quietly. "And a syringe."
"Forty GN for the lot." the dealer grunted.
"Thirty was standard." Jon glared. The requisite fleecing of the new customer. But he wasn't new to this.
"Forty GN or you walk."
"Thirty-five."
"Forty, or stop wasting my fucking time."
Jon didn't have the patience for this. His will to take the drug was already flagging. He lunged at the man, and seized him by the throat. Such a sudden movement wasn't expected. Nothing in Jon's body language had given the dealer any expectation of being attacked. Jon didn't want to just attack him...he wanted to flay him. Abberant ether dug into the man's flesh, and Jon tore him into pieces. It was becoming easier and easier now, and the flood of ether in his blood gave him new motivation to forget. The dealer screamed, high and thin, then was silent. The corpse withered, becoming as grey and dehydrated as a dead thing in the desert. Jon lowered him gently to the ground, to avoid breaking any bottles, and dug through his clothing.
Eyes were watching. The death of a dealer meant the corpse had drugs and nel. If Jon had just stabbed the dealer he might have had fifteen crawling, skinny addicts on his back wanting to kill them both and rob them. But he'd used magic, and addicts were wary of it. Even so, he could feel Hob manifesting behind him, snarling a warning at the little skittering eyes staring out from alleyways. By the muttered curses and shriek, some of them clearly thought better of antagonizing the man with the monster. Jon rooted through the dealer's clothing. A small coin purse; he pocketed that. Then, rapture. Three little vials of katomise. Blue, and shining against his skin. Their azure depths called to him, surged through him. That little animal in his head perked up and cried out for them, reaching through Jon. The mage rolled them gently in his palm. In all his life he'd still never seen as deep a blue as katomise. Never experienced a better high. He tucked them carefully in his pocket, along with a single syringe the man had on him.
He wouldn't take it here. He'd wake up to men raping him, or slitting his throat, or addicts chewing on his crystal arms. He dropped the dead dealer and hurried out of the Corner as fast as his legs could carry him. Not fast enough to jostle the precious vials on his person, but fast enough to get away from all that threatened behind him. He could feel Hob travel next to him as long as they were still in the depths of the Corner, but the Harvester wouldn't risk him. When Jon emerged again he was just another customer trying to put some distance between himself and a very bad decision.
