24th Vhalar 717
Robin only cared that there wasn’t any earth.
He sat, on a decrepit chair, by a rotting table, with a half-melted candle without its wick. There was an empty hearth and the mead was too heavy with liquor to sing. People chatted in the rouge of twilight, their cheeks and tongues warmed from drink. Robin sat with a frown, the chair opposite him empty.
Robin hated the buildings in Foster’s.
At least in Etzos they had the decency to build with stone.
He sighed audibly. He rested his chin on his hands, rough with callouses. He wore his blacks and he wore his weapons. Zipper stressed professionalism - except when it came to her filthy, filthy abomination of a mouth. Robin had learned more Ithession slurs than he did any other word thanks to her unintentional tutelage. But digressions aside, Robin just didn’t care to make the locals comfortable. The earth sighed with him, in the under. The wind howled outside. And yet inside, he was alone.
What exactly did he get out of his relationship with Hans? Bitterness, longing, and a whim of a journey that took him a thousand miles away to a city that held no gods.
The floorboards of the dockside local creaked behind the table Robin sat. Noisey metal slowly drowned out the rotting planks that passed as flooring. A tall and looming shadow cast its gaze upon the man who sat alone. Looking up, Robin would see none other than Gangui, the mercenary dog, whom the boss-lady had hired the previous trial. Draped upon the man’s wide shoulders, a tabard still lined with the creases from the tailor’s shop. Upon the gray canvas was the red silhouette of a … turkey? The blue cobalt armor covered the entirely of his body; the chain coif strapped, revealing a pair of icy-blue eyes and nothing else. The hard iron cage he was encased in was softened by a single red lily, still in bloom, pinned upon his finned helm.
And this was the man Zipper had hired to protect them. Or her. Mostly her. Actually, he was absolutely sure she mentioned something to the tune of “If he so much as saves you from a stubbed toe, you owe me nel, you element whoring cunt” She’d explained their contract, but Robin hadn’t been listening for the most part. The wind had held his attention for the better part of the day. A port wind, heavy with drunken laughter and sailor breath, it had blown ships out into the sea. It had tousled his hair, his clothes, investigating his pockets for secrets to be scattered.
But Hans was his to keep.
Sitting down at the table next to Robin, the barbarous man placed his sword on the table, resting one gauntleted hand on the hilt of the weapon, with the other he untied his coif to speak, “Where’s Zippomaria?”
He had spent the entire afternoon the day before preparing to fulfill his contract and the eccentric woman was nowhere to be seen. The wildman had bathed for the fifth time in his life, purchased 10 new tabards (a clean one for each day), and even -- it pained him greatly to do this -- shaved his moustache. All that to conform to the stupid presentation-obsessed ideals of the wretched woman. Despite these unpleasant caterings on his part, getting the black stricken off his ledger with the Guard was worth it.