My father is a bit like the eagle.
He's a weak man. A drinking man, the kind of man that gets wasted every Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, the morning, the afternoon, and the night too if he has enough strength to lift his bottle up to his mouth and enough money to buy a drink.
Something he now has, hmm, he does. His coins are bloodied but they still work, ryos are ryos, and the bartender doesn't seem to mind his sudden afflux of wealth, maybe he's thinking my grandfather bent again and threw some money on his son face.
Ah right.
That's my father strength. He's a bit like an eagle, like THE eagle, and just like it, he had his strengths.
Even if it didn't save the eagle in the end.
My father has his own strengths, just like the eagle. His major strength is his father, my grandfather.
That's part of the information I gathered today.
You see, I've been practicing with my crossbow for a while now. And I think I'm pretty good with it.
Good enough to hunt eagles at least.
So that's why, right now, my crosshair is right beneath my father chin, 3 nebe steps, and even then, I'm overballing it. There's also no rain, or wind, around me, no, instead there's men.
A lot of men.
Two dozen, it's easily the most succesful business I've ever seen in my village. Even some bigger shops cannot reach two dozens customer at the same time, in this place though? It sounds like a common occurrence since the barman and owner doesn't even seems to care. He's an old man though, so maybe he saw some shit.
Or maybe he's too busy wiping that glass with his pock marked dehydrated skin that gives out this odd grassy smell all old people give out.
In any case, he doesn't seem to care much about the noise around, even if that bothers me, and we're close, he's just behind me after all. There's just something about the buzzing of activity that annoys my ears.
The cacaphony of noise hitting my eardrums is loud, and it's also making sure no one can pass through my invisibility even if I do something ridiculous and mess up, like making my crossbow fall, unfortunately for my eagle of a father, I'm not in the habit of making my crossbow fall.
The noise, a mix of people cheering when they win a bet on the tables at the edge of the bar, dancing drunks just outside the door and enjoying the rain like crazies, depressive grunts and exhausted workers gossiping after a hard day at work outside the walls grabbing some wood, from homeless, from the decaying forest at the edges of the plain, or from building higher and higher walls. This noise, even if annoying for my baby ears, do give me the camouflage needed to relax.
Relax on my seat. Right on the counter, in front of my father who's drinking with his..."buddies"
"Heeeey, heeey" my father, my crossbow blesses him, has both hands around a man shoulders, a guy on his right -and on MY left-. He's shaking him a bit, looks pretty annoying, and his buddy, a tall lean man with a ponytail seems to agree as his smile looks faker than the sounds a prostitute would give out.
Still he answers, with a grunty "hmm?"
And my father answers by slamming ryos on the table. Ah, I recognize those, those are my ryos. Mine. Even if I shared them with someone, they're not yours to get and enjoy daddy dearest, that's bad behavior, bad behavior gets you treated like you're nothing but an animal, preferably an eagle.
"I'm getting dry!"
"I can see that"
His OTHER "buddy" on my father left, and MY right, turns his head to look at the scene while sipping his small cup of alcohol. He looks like the most average human on earth.
He turns just in time to hear my father "sooooo, you know, need money and..." He grumbles a bit, throwing dumb openings to lead the conversation....somewhere "...you sure you don't wanna buy my son?"
You know, somehow, I expected the bar to fall into a lull. For the cacaphony of sounds to stop, for everyone to turn their head and stare at my drunk father after he commited the sin of children trafficking.
The reality is different.
Nothing changes, nobody stops, everyone keeps drinking, talking, the barman behind me who clearly heard that doesn't seem to care, and the ponytail guy pushes him away with a grunt and a "A child isn't even good for meat nowadays, can he swing an axe?'
My father blinks at him, and like a hurt child starts pouting and drinking harder "Don't remind of that!"
"You're the one that's trying to shove this kid on everyone every night" The ponytail guy, I'll call him horse now. I think I need to find a horse in the forest, soon, just to test something. Horse takes his own glass, bigger than most, and takes the smallest of sip before finishing his sentence "Throw it with your grandfather and get rid of it"
'It'? 'IT'!?
"Urghhh, but he doesn't want to take it anymooooore" My father, like a fucking child, pushes his chest against the big counter, and I slide on the right to avoid his stretching arms as he throws a tantrum.
The man that was looking at the conversation finally does something, with a gentle smile, he gets closer to my father and pat his shoulder. "Yeah, that sounds rough buddy, your father doesn't want him anymore? Do you know why?"
Ponytail man gets closer too, placing his elbows on the counter and lounging forward to hear my father answer, suddenly mighty interested.
And my father gurgles something, while bringing his glass closer to his lips and doing his damn best to drink while laying on his belly, looks pretty hard but he has practice.
"Dunno, somethng about thwar and some..." His words are muffled, somehow, by the glass around his lips and the alcohol level raising in his veins.
But his "friends" doesn't stop there. Both of them, on the left, and on the right, put a hand on his respective shoulders and start taking care of him like all GOOD friends would, ignore their insistent words
"Oh? The war? Some bad news? Did he spotted something bad?" Horse
"I'll admit I'm curious too buddy" And that's the opportunistic on my right.
They aren't the subtlest, but my father doesn't seems to care. With a slow push to get back in a normal sitting position, he lifts his glass, and puffs his chest out.
"OI! Alright! That's supeeeeer super duper secret news-!" They lean toward him and listen closer "Apparently-" my father follows them and they form a bubble of secrecy as he starts semi-whispering, I lean closer too, even if they don't see me "Apparently, my da-!"
"HEY THERE!" My father snaps out of his secrecy and almost jumps off his seat as a man hand slaps on his shoulder. A strong and pretty big hand, the hand of a laborer.
My father buddies also get straighter, even if they don't jump like my father, they still get straighter and look at the man that jumped in their little secret meeting.
The look in their eyes could be seen in the dictionary beside the word "annoyed"
"Huh?" My father, looks at the hand on his shoulder, then up at the man who screamed his greetings, he has a shit eating grin, a bandana over his head, and seems really happy for some reason.
"What's that secrecy about guys?"
With an exhausted sigh, horse guy, wave the guy away "None of your business Keima, why are you even here?"
"Ohhh, don't be like that!" His hand that was on my father shoulder slides around until he's holding him close, an arm above his shoulder like he's his best friend "I just came out from a good deal with Youta, and the bar was on the way so here I am!"
Ponytail guy looks at him like he's spouting bullshit, the average guy went back to drinking and looking at the drama, and my father?
Ah, well.
Let's just say he's uglier than usual.
The second the name 'Youta' came out of the big man mouth, his entire confused and dumb drunk expression morphed into one of ugly rage and the way he lashes his arm back to try and hit him proves that.
"Piss off BITCH!"
The big man seperates himself from my father and manage to dodge the wild swing, taking some steps back, hands raised up for peaceful resolution "Okay man, chill, what's u-!" He crouches under a flying glass, it lands on the wall close to people that were betting on something, much to the dismay of the bartender that mumbles something behind me.
"Oh...okay?" Keima, the big bandana guy, gets back up, his hands now lower "Want a fight or what?"
Uh oh, shit's about to go down.