But he was also not a Galdor. In the same breath he was also a Wick who did not know how to be a Wick. He was – in the eyes of society – lesser. Gale was still at the bottom of the ladder, and without serious reform that was highly unlikely to change. The orbs blinked at his broken form, hairs raising instinctually to the shifting in the field, that small tell-tale sign sending a warning. Her fingers knotted, clenched and held onto her clothes – and then released.
They did not know enough about his behaviour. Was he the sort that became volatile while drunk? Easily enraged and prone to lashing out? Certainly did not seem that way currently, but it may have only been a matter of time. He watched her kill, had fought and bled through the streets the last few days himself. The acidic taste of bile rose up, face peeling into a grimace as she swallowed it and sent the heavy weight back to her stomach.
She needed to answer him, force some form of communication now everything had been laid bare. He had his right to question and she could not forbid him answers. She forced herself an inhale, noting the form that took to sprawling next to her. For a moment she thought on reaching out to touch him, the prickling of muscles as if to move – before the heavy weight slammed into her chest. Hot, it sat there cooling and solidified her in place. Her body refused her. Inhaling, warm air filling her lungs she chose to start with the easiest.
“I wasn’t in Kingsway for you,” her gaze drifted over him, never stopping even as it past his face. It inevitably made rest on her hands; people were hard, more so when it came to matters closer to the emotions. It was so easy to be swept up in them, drowned through the waxing and waning of sorrow and anger. Lips were licked, a slither of moisture smoothing over the cracks, “I was with other metalworkers, talking about levels of carbon, reducing slag run off, development of new smelt- metalworker things. Older guy hostin’ it lives near Kingsway, so when we started packing up said I’d get ‘im some food while I got my own. You being there, it… was coincidence. Least, far from intentional.”
Gale swallowed, feeling the hard lump forming in her throat. Hearing him groan there on the ground, a wailing noise that reminded her of some dying animal, provided a different kind of distraction. Her hand reached out into the low light, form leaning into a stretch to grasp upon her coat. It was something she could help with, all be it a poor offering given the circumstance. Dragged towards her, the fingers managed to pinch upon the previously found bread and dragged it over for inspection. She brushed the dirt off it, a small testing squeeze to check it – hard as she thought, but still mostly edible. A chunk was broken off, wrought iron tongs clamping around it before it was poked into the heat. As quickly as it went in did the piece come out, a careful blow upon it as the edges curled in from being toasted. Sheepishly, the smith took it and passed it down to him, “Eat. No arguing.”
It was a poor offering really, but she was not really sure what else she could do to delay the answering. Once more the orbs refused to fix upon him, nervous and skittish in their glamour. It was hard to focus, concentration now being poured into going against the whims of drink and no longer falling apart. The next was a bitter pill to swallow, harder as she realised there was no right words. Her voice dropped into a whisper, crackling along with the fire as it spilled forth, “If you weren’t there, I would not have helped them to begin with at all.” Gale held little love for the Seventen, part of her instinctively curled in as she remembered the received rough treatment from another at the start of the rioting, “I find that despite all the co’peration I give to the Seventen, the majority tend to use force unnecessarily. Something I was personally reminded of recently.”
Finger snaked up to her shoulders, digits pressing into he tendons around the neck and rubbing; as if a bruise still lingered there from the mere days before. Inhaling, her fingers ripped into the bread – breaking a chunk off and repeating the process she did with Rhys’. Eyes drooped, grip loosening as she watched her piece smoulder. Withdrawing it, she picked at the piece of burning on it before idly fiddling with it. A small pattern was drummed out, her lips pursing into a line.
“I don’t know what you’re supposed to do now,” she blew on it to cool it. She was not hungry, the lips refusing to part further than to allow a string of words to come forth, “You could do like any Galdor would do. Curse my existence and beat the stupid human back into submission. You could arrest me, watch me hang and hope I speak to none other about this. To make sure silence reigns,” Her gaze lifted to look at the various tools in her shop, “Who would miss another metalsmith? One with no relatives or friends? No one. You can then just ignore it all, carry on with your life as if this instance never happened. You could do that anyway, no obligations are holdin’ you here. Not really.”
It would have been incredibly easy, too easy really. Humans were surprisingly fragile despite the immediate racial belief. A good push and a fall could break many a man’s neck; Gale was not deaf to the stories of disagreements turning into manslaughter. Besides, it was not as if she was in a position to fight back against him – intoxicated or not, he had shown he was stronger and more combative than her. Perhaps right now the only deterrent there was for him to do such was the cold weight of Liberator. In return, the firearm reminded her of the destructive power she held at her fingertips.
And she wanted to make more of them.
“Guess that’s a half arsed answer,” she was still turning the piece in her fingers, “Though, I’m not really sure what the right one is. Is there even one? Mean, I’ll respect what you want. And I get it if you don’t want any of this. ‘Cause you got stuff goin’ for you and...”
In the end she shrugged, the trickle of self-depreciation seeping into her skull and largely taking over. He did not need this sort of thing in his life, though she imagined he did not want it at all. They were, for all intents and purposes, still practically strangers to each other – she knew nothing of him based on their small interactions and vice versa. Their only shared common ground was one of blood; but blood meant very little. Still, it did not stop the lingering craving for something to fill the gap – to not just be another part of the machine of product creation. Inhaling, she shook her head, awaiting some form of inevitable end to this night and the revelations that came with it.
“What do you want to do, br…”
The attempt to give a smile, the small curl of lips she had seen others do to reassure faltered. The little strength that remained fled her, hissing and disappearing from her bones. She could not finish, did not deserve to finish. And that in turn brought its own, new and rawr frustration.