Hansel: Good

Hansel had been on his own for about three weeks. So far, it was going well -- or it went well as long as he was alone.

He had no problems with surviving by himself out on the road. He had a knife and a bow, and he knew how to start a fire and find his way back to civilization by the stars when he wanted to. Hunting enough game to keep himself fed and sell off the extra when he wandered by a town was working out for him. It wasn’t glamorous or easy, but it was quiet, and simple.

The problems cropped up when he saw other people. Everywhere wasn’t like his home, it turned out. The further away he got, the more he saw elves, and other half-orcs, and tieflings and dragonborn, even in groups that outnumbered the humans. At first that made him feel safer in some strange way, but he realized quick enough that he couldn’t trust elves and tieflings and dragonborn and other half-orcs any more than he could trust humans. Couldn’t trust anyone. The bandits that stole his bow and wrenched his shoulder weren’t all humans. The thief who snatched his wallet wasn’t a human.

Apparently the world was just like this, everywhere you went.

So he stuck his knife into the thief’s throat and grit his teeth until she’d stopped moving, and took his wallet back. It was like defending himself from a mountain lion, he told himself. She was a person -- she had been a *person* -- he didn’t let himself think about it. He washed the blood off in a stream and found his way to an inn. He just wanted somewhere to sleep that had four walls and a roof, somewhere that would feel a little bit safe, but there were goddamn people here, too -- there were people everywhere, and now he kept thinking about how easily he’d slit that thief’s throat. Like it had been nothing. Like she had been nothing.

His mother had told him *be good* all his life, but she hadn’t said a word to him before he’d left home.

He emptied his wallet onto the bar over the course of the night, so if he hadn’t killed the thief, everything would have been the same for him at the end of the day, and she would have still been alive. He tried not to think about that either, and it seemed to work as long as he kept drinking. He ignored the other people in the inn as much as he could, because the mumble in his head said they were dangerous, and they would hurt him, but he could keep it from happening and maybe that was the only way to survive.

His gold ran out before he’d drowned it, and now he couldn’t even pay for the room he’d come in for, so he started to push himself up and away and head outside to find somewhere decent to sleep under the stars. The half-orc woman who’d been looking at him for hours -- who he’d been ignoring hardest of all -- put a hand on him like it was innocent, like she was just trying to keep him from stumbling. Every part of him tightened. She grinned crookedly.

His fist had lashed out into her jaw before he could even think about it. Immediately he thought *that wasn't good* but the only response in the bar was a few snorts and a couple *oooh*s. He bolted before she could get up from the floor anyway.

They were all the same. He was one of them. None of them were good.

# # #

Hansel had been on the sea for about two weeks. So far, it was going well.

He’d decided he liked the ocean. It had made him violently ill, for the first few days, but he’d gotten used to it, somehow. He’d gotten used to looking around and there being nothing -- absolutely nothing but blue. It made things simpler. He only had to deal with the crew of one ship at a time, and most of the merchants weren’t interested in talking to him, anyway.

When he’d caught his reflection in a glass window in Skyport, he’d understood why. He looked half-wild -- maybe more than half. There were scars on him now that he couldn’t remember even getting and he thought that something in his eyes looked different. Like he didn’t recognize himself anymore. But it’d worked in his favor. He didn’t talk much and when he did he tried to make himself sound gruffer and scratchier, older than sixteen. He kept his face blank. He was there to defend the cargo and the merchants, and they seemed to feel safer if they found him threatening, and he thought, *I can do that.*

Ultimately, though, when pirates attacked the ship, there wasn’t much he could fucking do about it. The dragonborn knight who’d been hired alongside him took a trident through the throat, and he managed to force one of the boarders off the edge of the merchant vessel with his cutlass, but then there was a spear lodged into his arm.

The boy at the other end of the spear was incredibly pretty. His throat was bleeding, but behind him, the other pirates were clearly winning. Hansel tossed his cutlass from one hand to the other and snapped the wooden grip of the spear, lunging at him, but getting a boot to his gut instead, then an arrow to his side, from somewhere else, and the very pretty pirate wrenched his spear out of Hansel to stab him with it again.

But he didn’t kill him.

Those of them who survived were tied up around their mast, and the pirate captain walked around them and explained to them, in a measured voice, that they could join her crew or they could die. Hansel watched the pretty pirate riffling through the pockets of the man who’d hired him. This all seemed reasonable.

# # #

Hansel had been a pirate for a month, and it wasn’t going well at all.

As it turned out, he was very good at being a pirate. It suited him better than waiting around a merchant ship for something to do -- the pirates were loud and honest and unafraid, and they did what they wanted when they wanted, and he found himself laughing with them, and not minding the slaps on the shoulder or the nickname they gave him. Tusks. He was the only half-orc on the ship, so he was the only one who had them. Captain called him Little Tusk even though he was taller than her, and he didn’t mind that either.

It felt good out here. He felt free and safe. But he didn’t feel *good*.

On the other hand, he’d started to lose track of what that even meant.

The pretty pirate -- he was a tiefling and they called him Horns, but his name was Taavit -- he kept fucking *watching* Hansel. Like even though he’d won he had some axe to grind. He didn’t say shit; he just watched.

Hansel thought it would be better to not acknowledge this. He ignored Taavit, which was hard, because even though it was a decent-size ship, he always seemed to be around. And he was -- he was difficult to not look at, sometimes. It was just that he was bright red. And the trident he’d picked up after Hansel had broken his spear -- he was very good with it. That was all. He’d beaten Hansel, so it seemed like a good idea for Hansel to study him, and figure out how it had happened, and how he could keep it from happening again.

But he didn’t like it that Taavit was watching him back.

Eventually he’d had enough of it. He cornered Taavit on the quarterdeck and shoved him against the wall. Later he forgot exactly what he’d said. Horns looked … surprised. Then confused. He hadn’t expected that -- he had expected a fight, and neither of them were armed, so he expected he’d win, and then he wouldn’t have to think about this anymore.

Instead Taavit said -- and he remembered this -- he never forgot it -- “Hey, hey, calm down. I’m not trying to fuck with you. Why would I do that?”

Hansel hadn’t had a response for that. He’d just assumed. Why else? What else would he be doing? Nothing else made any sense.

Then Horns had turned slightly redder, and pulled Hansel down by his shirt, and kissed him. And Hansel discovered that he didn’t hate this. Actually -- Taavit didn’t seem like a threat at all. Actually -- Hansel kind of wanted to protect him. Actually -- well, he decided he would think about it later.

# # #

Hansel had been alone for about three weeks. He told himself that he was doing fine.

Horns had taught him this thing -- that he could use a weapon with his left or right hand equally well. Apparently it was called being ambidextrous. Hansel had never thought about it before, but Horns had seemed impressed by it, and he’d encouraged Hansel to either pick up a shield or to use two cutlasses. They’d practiced together, sparring on the deck, until one of them was backed into a corner, and more and more Hansel was the one winning even against Taavit’s swirling trident and his bits and pieces of magic.

It wasn’t like they had blunted practice weapons. Scrapes happened -- to both of them. Plenty of times. Once Taavit had burned half his arm with magic and Hansel had laughed it off while he’d darted away to find the ship’s healer. It hadn’t been a problem. Just an accident.

It was an accident, too, when Hansel lodged one cutlass into Taavit’s side. He’d really thought that Taavit would be able to block it; neither of them pulled their punches. The cleric was on standby, then, but not quite able to heal him fully, and he was a little less red than usual but he tried to laugh it off, too, except that laughing hurt. Hansel made him sit down to catch his breath. And it would have been fine. It was just an accident.

Another ship drew up alongside them, flying black flags, and Taavit wasn’t fast enough. Hansel tried to protect him, but the arrows found him anyway. Arrows and swords found all of them, and again Hansel was tied up around a mast, this time with the pretty pirate boy slumped dead against his shoulder. He stared into space and listened to the new captain tell them what their options were.

He decided that he was going to kill all of them. The moment he could.

He didn’t care what would make him good anymore.