17 Ashan, 724
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Since he was now the one who was naked, Kotton’s first and best course of action was to obtain another set of clothing to wear. He hadn’t had time to do any laundry, so the only options available to him were day old work attire, and boy, did they smell. They had been thrown carelessly across his bedroom floor, so it spawned another pang of ache as the young man had to reach to grab them. During his dressing, he had to refrain from sneezing, the odours of another day pilfering the fresh scent of an otherwise unbothered room.
Kotton, newly robed in the stench of bleach and incubated bacteria, strode into the kitchen and seized some money from one of the counters. He took one last glance at the unconscious man before slipping out into the night.
His intention was that to head towards town with only a few meager copper pieces, maybe a silver or two, in search of a modest looking marketplace. His ice box had been on the emptier side as of late- lack of motivation, and time, being the culprits of having near to nothing to eat. And it was more than probable that the stranger resting in his house was hungry. Kotton was too, he noticed coincidentally as his solar-plex sent out a pang of discomfort followed by a low rumbling sound that reverberated in his belly.
His mind was lost amidst the clouds the entire time he spent walking into the downtown district of Scalvoris. However, before he had made much headway into the more populated parts of the city, the young man made sure that the senses he had were heightened. The alleyways no longer gave him cover, even the straight and narrow paths through busier intersections were 'iffy'. Why was he acting so paranoid? It was all because of that night he had been robbed. He had been drunk, sure, but the memories that he was able to recall still sent a multitude of shivers up his spine.
Whilst the sun had fallen, and the moon swiftly filling the hole of its absence, whilst the clinic may have closed by now, there were still several shoppes open, and there were still many vendors selling various merchandise in town. He held out his hand, palm open so that the first vendor he closed in on saw his ability to pay. And they did- the merchant’s eyes grew large, but other than that, their expressions remained as stoic as possible.
Kotton scanned the woman for any other signs of weakness. He had been getting better about detecting small details from certain persons, specifically after observing a patient who had been ailing from the abuse of her partner. He didn’t want anything to slide by him if it made things easier on his behalf. She gave away nothing, but it wasn't against trying. Kotton wished he could read what the lady was thinking. He wished he could see textures and various tints of colour that surrounded her until one outed itself as more distinct than the rest. It would be incredible if he could understand the feelings she felt, maybe even come to manipulate them, for the better of course.
Imagination spurred from the budding sense of nostalgia. Hadn’t he heard of such a talent? Perhaps in one of his many times spent at the public library. Yes- there it was- tentative, but prominent with many substantial nuances that screamed 'Attention!'
Empathy. It was a magic discipline. He wondered if he could find someone to initiate him into such a class of magic. Perhaps his grandfather could- he was rife with knowledge that spanned the general courses of relativity. But that would require he take some time off work. It was also require he endure lengthy travel, and he wasn’t sure he was up for such a journey.
“What can I assist you with, sir?” the seller inquired, her eyebrows raised with attentiveness.
Kotton brushed the gingerbread hair out of his eyes and tried to administer just the right angle of his eyes so they suggested a knack to smoulder. He leant over the counter that separated him from her and offered her a seductive smirk. He instigated the fluttering of his eyes before he became dizzy and chose to lower his voice so that it mimicked that of an octave akin to tone meant to soothe and placate.
“I would absolutely love fo- you to help me in acqu- buying some food?” The attention to detail for refraining from using the cursed letter ‘R’ was enough to exsanguinate Kotton of all confident energy.
The woman didn’t know what to say at first, for she was minutely taken aback by his forward approach- he had not been discreet in his ways of temptation. However, the time it took for her to recover was short. She retaliated, “I’ll see what I can do.”
Please, Kotton mentally pleaded.
Once the vendor had returned from round the back of the stand, he was found with the struggle to stifle the boredom that had forcibly apportioned claws into the state of patience; it had deteriorated not out of malevolence, but rather from temporal factor- time was of the essence. What if the poor lad back at his place had woken up in distress? What if he was confused? Frightened? Would he destroy all of Kotton’s things out of a fit of rage or mystification? Would he steal what he needed and simply escape into the darkness of the night?
His imagination was overacting just a little bit and needed to take a seat at the back of the room- not everyone should be seen with negative value and not every situation required an inaugural pessimistic approach.
“I have a selection for you to pick from,” the merchant announced, reuniting with her potential buyer. She positioned various provisions across the length of her counter. Since Kotton was a vegetarian and held strongly to his distaste for the disrespect and slaughter of animals, the thought of anything other than food cultivated from the ground made his skin nettle. There were slabs of meat to his right, but to his left were beautiful stalks of celery, heads of cauliflower and russets of potatoes, amongst other things. Doubt could never be settled, for what if meat was the appropriate choice for the wounded boy's recovery? Kotton would have a hard time touching the muscle tissue of a slaughtered cow due to the values he had accumulated over the arcs. He understood that values were subjective; everyone held different ones depending on who they were or what they had encountered, but he wasn’t sure he was able to take the thigh from a cow and roast it on a spit in his fireplace.
He hadn’t been eating as much as he should. In place of alcohol, depression had regularly seeped in and provided him without an appetite, at least for the last couple weeks. The mere thought of eating made him gag a little until slimy phlegm and other volatile liquids spurted up and out from his throat. But he, too, needed to consume. For nutrition. Just like everyone else.
Kotton had stopped tearing out his hair after all, even if a small section of his scalp was still much shorter than the rest. His arm had healed from being abused by a dirty blade, too. He was doing better. He was feeling better and he was healing. And healing required the need to eat, to fuel his body with the everything essential for his survival, even if sometimes all he felt he was doing was just that- surviving- flopping atop his unmade bed and yearning for something more, something better.
Rocking out of the pasture of torturous thoughts, Kotton was seen staring at three distinguishable items and they were all categorized as nothing other than strips of processed meat. What was the difference? He couldn’t tell unless he chose to delve deeper. A tight straining sensation began to pull at the back of his hazel orbs as he stared perpetually. He used all his energy to make out the disputations that determined one dead animal from the other, but could he really focus on invaluable information if it so utterly contrasted with his inherent values?
One piece of meat was a little more round than the others. The one in the middle was redder than the the first and last. They all gave off a putrid smell that reminded him of slaughter, but for the moment he would push those beliefs under the rug that was his psyche. Except, he couldn't. His gaze magnetically wandered back toward the pile of vegetables.
He pointed to a head of cauliflower and subconsciously announced, “I would like to puwchase this one." His finger wavered slightly with doubt as to whether he had made the correct choice.
The merchant nodded her head before removing from the counter the other choices. There was a soft sense of relief that released inside Kotton's mind as the action was done.
“How much?” Kotton asked, cutting to the chase.
“Three copper coins,” she stated with little to no hesitation. She stretched out her hand with purpose, eyes gleaning with the aplomb of someone who had done this job a thousand times.
Kotton was taken aback. That was a lot for a measly head of cauliflower; it could barely feed himself yet alone another! Had the rates of produce increased so much since the last time he had frequented a stand?
His words were suggestive, but not with any use of divinity. He was on probation with his mark and didn’t want to disturb his immortals with any more issues than he already had. So instead, he persisted with his low and calming tone, but this time, instilled a more decisive lilt than he had previously.
“It would mean the wo- eve- all to me, if you could spa- give me a coin?” The phrase was a little odd coming off his tongue, but the message retained the same meaning as it originally would have- 'X-ing' the arch nemesis ‘R’.
He drew strength from his body, and used the confidence he still had with the desperation that empowered it. The very essence of his desire flowed through his veins and pulsed within his arteries. He could sense it practically swimming in the thick of his bloodstream like the buildup of an insurgence of alcohol amid excessive ingestion relegated by poisonous tonics and mediocre brews. Was someone so adept with the magical discipline of Empathy also able to manipulate another's decisions? He would have to read up on that, but for now, his creativity remained without being plundered, and therefore, was propelled into the murky recesses of dormancy.
The lady looked confused, but Kotton addressed this via the simplification of choosing to stare into her grey orbs. There was a stall, a contemplation of value, all because of his unwieldy attempt to bargain. Kotton used this pause to move forth. Without giving her a moment to think, he mumbled something in a rather seductive, if not logical, fashion before smiling with mysterious sincerity. Then, his cheeks abashed with a red tinge, embarrassment quickly presenting itself, although slow to its roll. There was no doubt he had just blundered that.
“So,” he breathed, leaning against the counter once more, but failing to maintain his attractiveness by way of a minor blunder: a piece of fruit fell to the floor and smashed itself into a million pieces. Nevertheless, he prevailed with a halfhearted smile. “What does it cost? In... eh, addition to that melon?”
Kotton, newly robed in the stench of bleach and incubated bacteria, strode into the kitchen and seized some money from one of the counters. He took one last glance at the unconscious man before slipping out into the night.
His intention was that to head towards town with only a few meager copper pieces, maybe a silver or two, in search of a modest looking marketplace. His ice box had been on the emptier side as of late- lack of motivation, and time, being the culprits of having near to nothing to eat. And it was more than probable that the stranger resting in his house was hungry. Kotton was too, he noticed coincidentally as his solar-plex sent out a pang of discomfort followed by a low rumbling sound that reverberated in his belly.
His mind was lost amidst the clouds the entire time he spent walking into the downtown district of Scalvoris. However, before he had made much headway into the more populated parts of the city, the young man made sure that the senses he had were heightened. The alleyways no longer gave him cover, even the straight and narrow paths through busier intersections were 'iffy'. Why was he acting so paranoid? It was all because of that night he had been robbed. He had been drunk, sure, but the memories that he was able to recall still sent a multitude of shivers up his spine.
Whilst the sun had fallen, and the moon swiftly filling the hole of its absence, whilst the clinic may have closed by now, there were still several shoppes open, and there were still many vendors selling various merchandise in town. He held out his hand, palm open so that the first vendor he closed in on saw his ability to pay. And they did- the merchant’s eyes grew large, but other than that, their expressions remained as stoic as possible.
Kotton scanned the woman for any other signs of weakness. He had been getting better about detecting small details from certain persons, specifically after observing a patient who had been ailing from the abuse of her partner. He didn’t want anything to slide by him if it made things easier on his behalf. She gave away nothing, but it wasn't against trying. Kotton wished he could read what the lady was thinking. He wished he could see textures and various tints of colour that surrounded her until one outed itself as more distinct than the rest. It would be incredible if he could understand the feelings she felt, maybe even come to manipulate them, for the better of course.
Imagination spurred from the budding sense of nostalgia. Hadn’t he heard of such a talent? Perhaps in one of his many times spent at the public library. Yes- there it was- tentative, but prominent with many substantial nuances that screamed 'Attention!'
Empathy. It was a magic discipline. He wondered if he could find someone to initiate him into such a class of magic. Perhaps his grandfather could- he was rife with knowledge that spanned the general courses of relativity. But that would require he take some time off work. It was also require he endure lengthy travel, and he wasn’t sure he was up for such a journey.
“What can I assist you with, sir?” the seller inquired, her eyebrows raised with attentiveness.
Kotton brushed the gingerbread hair out of his eyes and tried to administer just the right angle of his eyes so they suggested a knack to smoulder. He leant over the counter that separated him from her and offered her a seductive smirk. He instigated the fluttering of his eyes before he became dizzy and chose to lower his voice so that it mimicked that of an octave akin to tone meant to soothe and placate.
“I would absolutely love fo- you to help me in acqu- buying some food?” The attention to detail for refraining from using the cursed letter ‘R’ was enough to exsanguinate Kotton of all confident energy.
The woman didn’t know what to say at first, for she was minutely taken aback by his forward approach- he had not been discreet in his ways of temptation. However, the time it took for her to recover was short. She retaliated, “I’ll see what I can do.”
Please, Kotton mentally pleaded.
Once the vendor had returned from round the back of the stand, he was found with the struggle to stifle the boredom that had forcibly apportioned claws into the state of patience; it had deteriorated not out of malevolence, but rather from temporal factor- time was of the essence. What if the poor lad back at his place had woken up in distress? What if he was confused? Frightened? Would he destroy all of Kotton’s things out of a fit of rage or mystification? Would he steal what he needed and simply escape into the darkness of the night?
His imagination was overacting just a little bit and needed to take a seat at the back of the room- not everyone should be seen with negative value and not every situation required an inaugural pessimistic approach.
“I have a selection for you to pick from,” the merchant announced, reuniting with her potential buyer. She positioned various provisions across the length of her counter. Since Kotton was a vegetarian and held strongly to his distaste for the disrespect and slaughter of animals, the thought of anything other than food cultivated from the ground made his skin nettle. There were slabs of meat to his right, but to his left were beautiful stalks of celery, heads of cauliflower and russets of potatoes, amongst other things. Doubt could never be settled, for what if meat was the appropriate choice for the wounded boy's recovery? Kotton would have a hard time touching the muscle tissue of a slaughtered cow due to the values he had accumulated over the arcs. He understood that values were subjective; everyone held different ones depending on who they were or what they had encountered, but he wasn’t sure he was able to take the thigh from a cow and roast it on a spit in his fireplace.
He hadn’t been eating as much as he should. In place of alcohol, depression had regularly seeped in and provided him without an appetite, at least for the last couple weeks. The mere thought of eating made him gag a little until slimy phlegm and other volatile liquids spurted up and out from his throat. But he, too, needed to consume. For nutrition. Just like everyone else.
Kotton had stopped tearing out his hair after all, even if a small section of his scalp was still much shorter than the rest. His arm had healed from being abused by a dirty blade, too. He was doing better. He was feeling better and he was healing. And healing required the need to eat, to fuel his body with the everything essential for his survival, even if sometimes all he felt he was doing was just that- surviving- flopping atop his unmade bed and yearning for something more, something better.
Rocking out of the pasture of torturous thoughts, Kotton was seen staring at three distinguishable items and they were all categorized as nothing other than strips of processed meat. What was the difference? He couldn’t tell unless he chose to delve deeper. A tight straining sensation began to pull at the back of his hazel orbs as he stared perpetually. He used all his energy to make out the disputations that determined one dead animal from the other, but could he really focus on invaluable information if it so utterly contrasted with his inherent values?
One piece of meat was a little more round than the others. The one in the middle was redder than the the first and last. They all gave off a putrid smell that reminded him of slaughter, but for the moment he would push those beliefs under the rug that was his psyche. Except, he couldn't. His gaze magnetically wandered back toward the pile of vegetables.
He pointed to a head of cauliflower and subconsciously announced, “I would like to puwchase this one." His finger wavered slightly with doubt as to whether he had made the correct choice.
The merchant nodded her head before removing from the counter the other choices. There was a soft sense of relief that released inside Kotton's mind as the action was done.
“How much?” Kotton asked, cutting to the chase.
“Three copper coins,” she stated with little to no hesitation. She stretched out her hand with purpose, eyes gleaning with the aplomb of someone who had done this job a thousand times.
Kotton was taken aback. That was a lot for a measly head of cauliflower; it could barely feed himself yet alone another! Had the rates of produce increased so much since the last time he had frequented a stand?
His words were suggestive, but not with any use of divinity. He was on probation with his mark and didn’t want to disturb his immortals with any more issues than he already had. So instead, he persisted with his low and calming tone, but this time, instilled a more decisive lilt than he had previously.
“It would mean the wo- eve- all to me, if you could spa- give me a coin?” The phrase was a little odd coming off his tongue, but the message retained the same meaning as it originally would have- 'X-ing' the arch nemesis ‘R’.
He drew strength from his body, and used the confidence he still had with the desperation that empowered it. The very essence of his desire flowed through his veins and pulsed within his arteries. He could sense it practically swimming in the thick of his bloodstream like the buildup of an insurgence of alcohol amid excessive ingestion relegated by poisonous tonics and mediocre brews. Was someone so adept with the magical discipline of Empathy also able to manipulate another's decisions? He would have to read up on that, but for now, his creativity remained without being plundered, and therefore, was propelled into the murky recesses of dormancy.
The lady looked confused, but Kotton addressed this via the simplification of choosing to stare into her grey orbs. There was a stall, a contemplation of value, all because of his unwieldy attempt to bargain. Kotton used this pause to move forth. Without giving her a moment to think, he mumbled something in a rather seductive, if not logical, fashion before smiling with mysterious sincerity. Then, his cheeks abashed with a red tinge, embarrassment quickly presenting itself, although slow to its roll. There was no doubt he had just blundered that.
“So,” he breathed, leaning against the counter once more, but failing to maintain his attractiveness by way of a minor blunder: a piece of fruit fell to the floor and smashed itself into a million pieces. Nevertheless, he prevailed with a halfhearted smile. “What does it cost? In... eh, addition to that melon?”
