Xaver mopped his hands over his face, careful to avoid skimming over the open fresh, and still oddly unhealed gash that ran deep into his left cheek and up into his hairline, closing his eyes for a moment as he walked, soundlessly, down the dark and dreary cobblestone street toward the Hogs Head. Xaver had been having a fair few more scuffles than ever, recently - and he was no immortal. Xaver was just as suceptible to pain, to injuries, as the next.. Even if he wasn't human.
He dropped onto a barstool, unable to hide the sheer, uneasy exhaustion that stung every nerve, and ordered a drink, at about the same time another figure sat down, beside him.
When the tall, thankfully clean, glass of water was set before him, awkwardly, Xaver picked up the glass and drank, giving no inclination to if he'd even seen the other.
It wasn't until the man beside him spoke, that Xaver set the glass down with a dull clunk on the wood.
"They are going to kill you, Milord."
Xaver looked over at him. Calmly
Expressionless.
"They will try, I know."
The figure beside him pulled down the hood of the black cloak that had concealed all of him, his features young -younger than Xaver- and urgent. Stressed.
Concerned, and, badly-masked, scared.
"They are SERIOUS, my l-"
"Xaver," he cut in, tones low, but sharp.
The younger man swallowed, and shrinked away a little.
"It's Xaver. Not 'my lord', not 'my king'.. Just Xaver. Do me that little respect, please, whilst you sit in my presence upon the request that took me from my home.."
That wasn't exactly true - Xaver had been out for a little while before he heard the boy's summons, trying to clear his head.
The boy looked pained.
"That's exactly what they are on about! They feel threatened, and you are never around!.. These aren't like the others!"
His voice rose when Xaver stood up, and started away.
The boy jumped from his stool, after him, ignoring the stares.
"They know.. GOLD! That's it! They know about your-"
He faltered, upon Xaver's cold, unnerving stare, and then suddenly dropped to one knee.
"Please, Milord, take heed to me! You saved my baby sister her life and I would give my wings before see you lose yours - you've been a friend to me, despite everything! Listen to me!"
Xaver sighed, very quietly, looking at the boy for a moment, before he went to him, gripped his cloak, and drug him to his feet.
"I am listening to you," he said, quietly.
"OK," the boy nearly panted. "Now, what I brought you here to tell you, most importantly. Xences-"
He stopped, and his eyes widened, and Xaver could smell the blood before he saw it. Glancing down, he saw the tail end of a blade portruding through the boy's middle. Xaver wrapped his arms around the boy and brought him carefully to the floor, removing the blade and throwing it to the side, leaning over him, as the rest of the pub rushed around, and fled.
The boy was pale, though his skin was naturally a very soft browninsh hue, deep chocolate eyes, now wide with still silent terror, stared out from thick strands of his mop of chestnut hair. Xaver messed the boy's hair, distractingly, looking over the wound, and looking around at the same time.
WHERE had that..?
A foot connected squarely with Xaver's back, and he toppled foreword, over the boy, hearing the brown-haired boy's squeak of protest when he faded from view. Xaver rolled to his feet, and turned in the same movement, ducking beneath a fist and kicking out into the middle of the attacker.
It was all so odd..
Nothing felt right.
What was wrong..?
All of it.
Xaver screamed when the blade ripped through his lower back and up his shoulder, his knees buckling when a hand gripped his neck and pulled him back, driving the blade completely through until Xaver could feintly feel the hilt brush his shoulderblade.
Gold.
Of course it was gold.
Fate had never been kind to him, and he didn't expect her to have an epiphany any time soon.
The hand around his throat slid up the side of his face, and gripped his hair, jerking his head to the side. Xaver closed his eyes, his chest heaving, snarling against the pain that boiled from his shoulder, as he was tugged, the blade still an ominous presence within him. He looked around, almost frantically, when he heard the boy's screams. Silent even when he'd been stabbed, it was blood-curdling now to hear his cries. Xaver thrashed, despite being literally fishhooked by a blade he was fatally allergic to, kicking, and crying out - but by the time he'd ripped himself away from his captor (who lay in a series of pieces, behind him, amongst the gold sword) it was too late.
The rest of the group disappeared in their places, content, even as Xaver threw himself.. more like fell.. to the floor beside the boy, gathering his will and forcing it into him, though in vain.
The boy was dead.
His wings had been torn off, their soft white-brown entities lying still, beside his body.
Xaver gaped at him, panting, kneeling over the boy's ravaged body until it seemed just as much of his own blood stained the dirty floor. He fought it, and tried to stand..
But it was only a matter of moments before he, himself, slumped over, and fell still.
