Jonn: Can You Do That For Me?

When the Eldathyns kicked him out, Jonn walked the journey to Skyport by himself. He visited the old veteran who lived in the woods, first, and took a knife from her when she wasn't paying attention, and got out fast before she could notice. Figured he needed to be able to defend himself, and the clerics always took away any little weapons he'd fashioned for himself.

He didn't like living at the Sanctuary anyway, he told himself. Didn't like the clerics. But he did miss the piano, and Luci -- she hadn't said goodbye to him, but he was sure that was just a mistake.

It took a long time to get to Skyport, but it was the only other place he'd ever lived, and he knew Hansel would show up there eventually. He kept his eyes open for trolls on the way, but nothing touched him. The knife stayed in his belt. That was probably for the best anyway, since his arm was still broken from the last time. A group of traveling merchants let him camp with them one night, and while it was dark he took a crossbow and some bolts from one of their packs, and food from another, because he hadn't eaten in a day.

He was good at taking things.

When he reached Skyport he wandered past the docks, looking for Hansel's ship, just in case -- the black flag with the red chevron -- but it wasn't there. He sat and watched sailors come and go, for a while. He had kept himself and Luci alive by stealing, mostly, and it had been stealing from Hansel that had gotten them off the streets. Seemed like a good idea to go back to it.

The arm was a problem, though. He could still pick pockets one-handed, but it would be tougher, and the sling would draw people's eyes to him.

After two days of not being able to eat, he tried to swipe some fruit from a market stall, but the merchant spotted him and threatened to call the guards over it. Jonn thought about the knife in his belt, but the square was too crowded. He thought about bolting, but he was probably too weak to make it. He begged and made himself cry, but the merchant was unmoved.

When he'd first met the old soldier who lived in the woods, he'd stolen food from her saddle bags -- not because he was starving, just because he was exploring the forest and didn't want to have to go back to the temple for lunch -- and she'd held him at swordpoint and made him apologize and swear he wouldn't do it again. He'd lied to her blithely, and she'd snorted and called him cute, and taken him into her cottage to show him how he could repay her.

He figured he could repay the merchant the same way, and when he suggested as much the man’s eyes widened and he looked around furtively before dragging Jonn down an alley and around a corner, where it was quiet and dark and isolated.

Jonn had this abstract knowledge that he was attractive, because he'd been told it enough times in various ways -- Luci commented on being jealous of his auburn hair, and some of the younger clerics had flirted with him, and the soldier said he was pretty, and when he'd slunk down to the port town and into a bar there had been several sailors who kept bothering him. Hansel had gotten drunk one time and cried about how he'd grown up so handsome, and that had made Jonn cry too, for some reason he didn't understand.

What he did understand was that being attractive was valuable, and the body he had possessed some sort of innate worth, but neither of these things had material value to him, so he could trade them and get things out of people for free -- like swordfighting lessons from the soldier, and food. It was a great scam.

But when the merchant pushed him back against the alley wall, he felt himself freeze up, and his stomach clenched and his breath fled his lungs. The knife he'd stolen pressed against his thigh, and then it was cold against his hand.

The merchant fought back, twisting and ending up pinning him on the ground -- most people were bigger than Jonn, though, and instincts from years ago and fighting other street rats with shanks kicked in. He couldn't reach the throat, so he drove his knife into the man's gut, carving up until he hit bone, not stopping, stabbing him again --

He was covered in blood and panting and safe again. In control. Fuck, and it had felt -- good. Really fucking good. A jittery laugh escaped him and he slapped his own hand over his mouth to contain it. He had never -- it was different from hunting animals -- people were threats, they could overpower him and manipulate him -- but he could do *this*. He could control them. He hadn't known that, before.

It was like fire. The skin on his arm was still smooth and shiny where the old Abbess had touched him, but he wasn't afraid of fire since he had realized he could use it, too, and he could use it better.

A voice above him said, “You should go through his pockets.”

He scrambled out from under the merchant, flipping onto his feet and readying his knife again. His hand was shaking, though, and he wavered a little.

A woman sat on one of the rooftops that overlooked the alley, feet dangling over the edge from a story up, eating an apple and watching him casually. She was older than him, middle-aged maybe, with blonde hair pulled back and dark clothes.

“Rob him,” she said. “Why not, right?”

He swallowed. She wasn't from the church, clearly -- she had the look of a thief. A well-off one. She slipped off the roof and landed, light on her feet, a few yards away, taking a bite of her apple and sauntering closer. He eyed her without moving, wary.

“Don't you look like a spooked cat?” she commented, and held the rest of her apple out to him.

He knew he should run for it, but he was so hungry, and he did want to take whatever he could off the merchant. He slid his knife back into his belt and snatched the apple, dropping down to crouch over the body defensively.

She looked amused, pacing around him, making him have to turn to keep an eye on her. “You could use some cleaning up.” She stopped in front of him, having spiraled steadily closer, close enough to reach out and tousle his hair. “What's your name, scared kitty?”

He jerked away. “Fuck you.”

“Strange name.” She knelt down onto his level. There was a dusting of dark freckles across her nose and cheeks that made him think of Luci, and she eyed him in a very -- straightforward way. Not trying to hide her interest. “You kill people a lot, kitty?”

He hesitated. “No.”

“Thought not. You pick pockets?”

He nodded slowly, chewing on a bite of apple, and she nodded in return.

She took her eyes off him to pull a dark handkerchief out of her pocket, dampen it with her waterskin, and reached over the corpse to grab his collar. He shifted nervously, but she only moved to start wiping away the sticky blood he'd gotten on his face when he'd held in that laugh. She shushed him when he moved, like he was a child, not someone who'd just killed a person in front of her.

He settled, and let her clean him up.

“That's better.” She studied him for a moment. “How old're you?”

“Fuck you.”

“Sixteen, seventeen?” she guessed. “Been on the streets long?”

“I'm twenty-one,” he said, insulted.

“Oh, so practically a real adult. I know, I know, fuck me.” She paused. “New to Skyport?”

She asked a lot of questions. He glared at her and looked away to start digging through the merchant's pockets and hoped she wouldn't leave. Instead, she seemed pleased with this response, and watched him quietly until he'd gotten everything he could. Then she stood and offered him a hand up.

He still wanted to be evasive and skittish, because he knew that was safer, but he took it anyway.

“I have a place you can stay,” she said, “if you work for me. Hot meals, warm beds. Just steal what I tell you to steal and keep your mouth shut. Can you do that?”

He was hungry. And alone. And tired of sleeping in the dusty abandoned remains of his parents’ old shack. And -- she was nice, and he trusted her. He nodded.

“Good.” She pulled him in to drape her arm around his shoulders loosely, and he tucked himself against her side as she led him down the alley. “You're gonna have to tell me your name.”

“Jonn.” He paused. “Granger.”

Her hold on him tightened, just a little. “Don't fucking lie to me, kitty.”

“Sterling,” he appended hastily. “My last name's Sterling.” Hansel told him not to lie, too. He leaned into her more as she loosened back up.

“All right,” she said. “I'm Helena. How this works is I'll be good to you if you're good to me. Can you do that for me, Jonn Sterling?”

He nodded eagerly.

“Good.” She patted his shoulder. “Good.”