[M] Unusual Night For A Date...
 

From the shadows, a small grin curved the the boy's lips, green eyes seeming to shine in the darkness as they watched his prey; a traveler's wagon. His lithe form slipped down from the tree he'd been perched in, landing near-silent behind the cart. Stealth was key; just get in, grab some things, and leave without being noticed. And since there was only one of the guy, it shouldn't prove too difficult.

The short figure darted, hoisting himself up and into the wagon. He flinched as the wagon shook from the impact, silently begging whatever diety was watching that night to let it be brushed off. Oh, for the love of whoever was listening, don't let him get caught again. Moving carefully and slowly now, he began taking stock of what meager takings the wagon had.

Further into the town, toward where the wagon was headed, there was a bit of a brawl going on. Seemed as though one of the local ruffians had made the mistake of stealing something to eat from one of the merchant shops, and he hadn't been quite fast enough to get away with it. Currently, he was on the ground, curled up, while the adults that ran the shops kicked and beat on him for his crimes. And if one was looking closely, they would see another reason the poor boy was being beaten up. He was one of the rarer, less-liked races as it was, if judged by the calico tail wrapped around his leg, and the calico ears peeking out from his nut-brown hair. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut in pain, so their color was hidden, but if he were of the feline race, there was a strong bet they were either blue, green, or yellow.

He wasn't giving one yowl in his own defense, having long ago given up the thing he stole - an entire loaf of French Bread, fresh at that. However, just because the thief was repentant didn't mean the punishment was any less severe. And starting to get more so, as a sickening crack told to a cracked rib, and several dull thuds landed on already-bloodied skin, seen through the rags of clothing the boy was wearing. The shopkeepers didn't particularly care. Business was bad, the times were rough, and they needed something to take their aggression out on. A sneaky-handed little cat-thief was just the ticket for some impromptu anger management.

The thief's mischievious grin was slowly turning into a frown as he looked at what meager fare the wagon had to offer. This was seriously it? Some dried herbs and jars of...what was it? A slender hand plucked the jar up, holding it up to get a closer look at the odd looking goop inside. Hmm...perhaps it was some sort of odd jam or spread? He'd seen far odder looking edibles, so it wasn't too far fetched. He made quick work of the lid, popping it open. Without much of a second though, his fingers swooped into the goop, bringing up a sample for a taste and-

There was no way in hell. It took all his will power to remain silent as he tried wiping the taste off his tongue with his sleeve. Whatever in seven hells was in the jar, it was -not- edible. Not in any sense of the word. With a less-than-enthused look on his face, he put the lid back on the jar of non-food, setting it aside. From the looks of it, there wasn't much else in here for the taking. Looks like this venture was a bust....great.

His ears twitched slightly at the sounds of discord... probably some drunkards out for a midnight brawl. None of his business. Well, unless one of them had some valuables. Then it might be his business. Careful to stay in the shadows of the wagon's interior, he peered out at the road ahead.

The men continued kicking and hitting the boy that was curled up on the ground. By now, there would be small blood-spatters on the ground, telling to the fact that the beating was more than just 'discipline'. The boy was bleeding, and now he wasn't moving anymore, simply lying there limp, not even protecting himself with his arms.

Another man came out to try and disperse the crowd, shoving other men left and right to get to the bundle on the ground. He knelt down, and looked at the small, crumpled form.

"Well shit." the man said with a harsh exhalation of breath. "You guys really did a number on the kid, didn't you? Not that I blame you. Filthy thieving feline. I should have sold you ages ago."

He pulled the catboy to his feet, and harshly dusted him off. Only, the boy's legs didn't seem to want to work, and he collapsed back to the ground, hitting his head with a harsh crack. The man turned explosively angry, and kicked the boy in the ribs in frustration.

"DAMN YOU GUYS! You broke him! The cheapest kid I've bought in years, and you broke him. NOW what am I going to do for help around the factory, eh? EH?! Any one of YOU want to volunteer?!"

He gave the kid another kick, and turned, crossing his arms, and giving the rest a glare of utter death until they fully dispersed, then turning to look at the pitiful collapsed heap that HAD been his slave.

"Great. Just fucking great."

The boy froze, silently cursing as the man looked back at him an apparently addressed him. Don't move? Did he seriously expect him to just sit there and wait for him to go get the authorities? Really, now, how stupid did this guy think he was? The minute the man started to move away, the boy was already scrambling, making his way out of the wagon. All he had to do was start running; he was confident they wouldn't be able to catch him.

Except, when he looked, there wasn't a group of authorities, or even drunkards. As the men scattered, he could see a small form lying in the road. Well, damn. Looks like they relied on mob justice around here. Wasn't that just lovely? He silently wondered if the cat-thing was still alive; he couldn't tell from this distance whether he was still breathing or not.

The man who had been complaining turned to the lad walking up to him, and narrowed his eyes.
"Everything's fine, kid. I might had just lost myself a slave, that's all. It's none of your concern."

He eyed the boy's wagon, and arched a brow. "What wares are you selling there? I might have summat to trade for them if they're good."

Completely ignoring the bleeding lump on the ground, he drew out his pouch, and hefted it to judge how much money he had currently.

"So what do you say? What are you sellin'?

Gabriel might not have been interested, but someone else was. His green eyes widened at the sight of the bulging money pouch. Now -that- was what he called good pickings! But how to get it; it'd be rather hard to steal the coins with them being the focus of attention, after all. He'd have to wait for their attentions to be diverted....not that he minded. He was patient, he could wait all evening if he had to.

Feet silent, he edged up behind the wagon, going as close as he dared without being spotted, before falling still and watching. Waiting. That pouch would be his, dammit.

The man eyed the boy with a bit of trepidation. "So long as you don't touch me." he said. "I'm not into men."

At this point, he was completely and totally ignoring the piece of catboy flotsam on the ground. It wasn't his concern anymore. He'd clean it up later.

"Show me what you can do, then. I might have a market for your skills - granted they're what I'm searching for. Please demonstrate."

He crossed his arms. And yes, he did notice the boy near the back of the wagon. His eyes warned the kid not to make any sudden moves. Because as well as a pouch of gold, he also had a sword strapped to his hip, and a knife peeking out of his boot.

Damn, was tonight "Everyone-Notice-Razyn" night? Eyes narrowed from his hiding spot, his hand moving to the blade at his side. If the man thought he was going to intimidate him...well, he had another thing coming. Razyn Thorne was not one to back down from any challenge, and that included nonverbal and/or perceived challenged. He'd get that pouch, if only to prove he could. A small smirk tugged at his lips, his tension easing. This was proving to be a rather interesting night, that was for sure.

The man stepped aside, and canted his head to the broken catboy.

"Be my guest. I don't mind if he dies at this point. He's already useless to me if he can't stand up and work."

He backed off just a bit, but kept his eyes on both the boy selling him something, and the thief that wanted to take something. Neither of which was going to get the better hand. He could haggle with the best of them, and both blades weren't exactly just for show.

The catboy lay there on the ground in front of the boy, limp and nearly lifeless. Blood trickled out of his mouth and was starting to pool on the ground, since he wasn't able to move. One eye was blackened and swollen shut, his lip was cracked and bleeding, and multiple blood spots dotted his ragged outfit. He WAS breathing, but it was slight, and didn't look like it could last much longer.

Things...were DEFINITELY not going according to plan. And him, a little worm? How dare he refer to him as such!? He hadn't stolen anything of his, after all. But....assisting him would help him get physically closer to his goal. Perhaps this was a blessing in disguise? He doubted it, but he could still hope.

He reached back into the wagon, grabbing out a cast of water and what he assumed was ink. He plastered a smile on his face before making his way around the wagon and towards the two. For a thief, he was dressed rather nicely, his near-dirtless outfit a collection of vibrant greens and browns. "Here you go, Sir. Just as you asked." he said, holding out the water and ink. His gaze fell on the little form on the ground, a pang of sympathy going out to the kid. The life of a thief was a hard one; especially when people reacted like that. Poor thing.

The boy's breathing didn't ease, but it didn't stop, either. Keeping the kid alive was looking to be about all the other could do at the moment. The superficial wounds - like the cut on his lip, and a couple of bruises on the cheek - healed instantly. The deeper wounds would require a bit more care - and possibly NOT magical aid, but medical aid. The feline types responded poorly to magic, as was a widely-known fact. Much more than this superficial healing, and the catboy might start doing WORSE. Especially if he was allergic to it.

However, the man was sold, giving a nod. "Alright. I could use a healer for my patrons." he said, grinning. "I can give you a healthy wage for as long as you'd like to stay. You can have the kid, too. Good worker, but I've been looking to sell him for a while now."

"Now, why would want to get rid of such a cute little thing?" Razyn said, giving a cheeky smile to the man. He gave a light, near-melodic laugh, his hands coming together in unwarranted mirth. No, he wasn't happy that the boy was hurt, not by a long shot. But, he couldn't help himself! Not that he worried too much over it; he was never on to question his odd emotional timing.

"Ah right! You mean The Gray Morning. I'm familiar with the owner. I could swing a better bed if you like. And more.... cargo space."

He glanced down at the still-unconscious boy, then turned to answer the thief. "Well, boy... It's a business thing. Someone like you wouldn't understand the balances and sacrifices you have to make. Especially not one who isn't used to EARNING his gold by the sweat of his brow, and the strength of his back."

A nasty glare passed that way, and the man dumped out two gold coins into the healer's palm. "See your way around that for a while, and come back if you need more. That's pure gold there, that is. Should be enough to get you a room of decent quality."

"Oh, but what knowledge have you of my work and business, hm?" Razyn asked, a smile curving his list. "I am a bard, sir. A quite talented one, if I may say so myself. I've dealt with bleeding fingers and calloused hands in the name of my trade." he said, his tone's inflection holding an almost sing-song quality to it. "In my trade, we don't have the luxury of having slaves to do out work for us. So, earning gold actually takes effort. Not that you'd know of that, would you, oh kindest sir?"

The man gave a grunt, a quick nod, and turned back to walk down the street, toward the smithy. No wonder he complained about losing a slave - manning the bellows was hard work with two people, let alone just one. It also explained the knife and sword. He'd likely been testing them. And it also explained his gruff manner, and large stature. 'Sticks' didn't work at the forge.

The boy, meanwhile, lay limp at Gabe's feet. He wasn't out of the woods by any shot, but he belonged to the healer now, to do with what he would. The smithy had washed his hands of the kid, so that was a benefit. The catboy made the first sound he had since being left there bleeding... he moaned.

Well, the armed man was gone, and he was sadly left empty handed. Well, he knew when a gig was up. Best to cut his losses now and leave whilst the time was opportune. "Well, it was lovely being of assistance, sir. Best of luck with your new job and your new charge. I best be off, places to go and what not." he said, giving a slight chuckle. And with that, he turned on heel, fully intending to just walk off like none of this happened.

Because, clearly, that would work. Clearly.

Razyn paused, glancing back at the man. Well, he did suppose he owed the fella for not ratting him out...and damn, was that little kitten cute. "I guess I could help out... not sure how much use I'll be, but eh, I can do what I can." he said, making his way back over. "Name's Razyn. Razyn Thorne. And you are, healer?" he asked, glancing between the unconscious boy and his apparent new employer.

"Oh, I'll be careful. Careful as can be." Which wasn't very careful, mind you, but he'd try. With a light chuckle, the would-be thief made his way to the back of the wagon, carefully setting the jars down before going about rearranging things. Thank goodness the kid wasn't too big; wouldn't have to move too much stuff for him to be able to lay down. He made quick work of moving the herbs and jarred goop; some which he recognized, others...not so much. He then grabbed what clothing was among the inventory of the cart, fixing a quick make-shift pallet for the patient.

"All set up back here!" he called out from the cart, grinning.

His task done, Razyn climbed out of the wagon, moving aside to give the healer room. "Hurt pretty bad, isn't he?" he inquired, nodding towards the kid. "They sure did a number on him..." And while he felt bad for the kid, a small part was glad that it hadn't been him. He shook his head before looking back up at Gabriel. "So, what now? Anything you need me to get or do?" Idleness was not his thing, nor something he wanted to waste too much time on. He liked to be doing, well, something. Anything, no matter how small or menial the task. Something was better than nothing.

"That I do." Razyn said, nodding. "Isn't too far away from here, and shouldn't be too much of a hassle getting there. Shall I take the reins until we get there?" While his tone remained calm and professional, his tell-tale grin was already spreading across his face. Oh, how he loved horses....they just went ever so fast. But, alas, he couldn't go too fast with the injured little cat back there. No, he'd have to go slower, and takes those silly little things called precautions. Bah.

"Clever ideas? Oh, I wouldn't dream of it." The words, while meant to be reassuring, were marred by the grin in his face and the laughter behind his tone. "I hear you loud and clear, sir. Nothing will happen, I can assure you." With a rather dramatic and embellished bow, he made his way to the front of the cart, climbing up to take a seat. It'd been so long since he'd done this... shouldn't be too difficult. He picked up the reins, giving a slight shake to get the horse going. Slow and steady, he had to remember that. Slow and steady....for now, anyways.

Slow and steady, slow and steady.... how droll. Razyn was quite sure that this lovely mare could go much faster. What a waste, having to go at such a slow, mundane pace. Ugh. To cut the silence and keep himself at least mildly entertained, he began humming a tune, foot tapping along to keep the tempo steady.

The boy didn't respond for a few moments, but then came to in an explosive bout of coughing and randomly flailing limbs, knocking over some vials and jars before he realized he was safe and calmed down to making slight whimpers every so often, eyes that were a bright yellow darting around and trying to gather exactly where he was. He'd felt the medicine go down his throat, and that, if not the taste, had woken him up - although he was still in a hell of a lot of pain. Hence the whimpering.