[There we go... San's background, his first life.
For the Labbies reading this, adjust the ages to make him a year or three younger. Else it gets a bit odd to explain how he met Diego xP ]
Prologue
Gunslinger
Warm rocks strewn around the red earth, patches of dry grass and cacti, and a vibrant red sun sinking lower and lower in the west, announcing the coming of the cold night. This was where a lone ranger was leaving a trail of upswept dust in his wake. Looking ahead into the direction where he was headed, there wasn't much to see. More rocks, and more sand, and the occasional lizard deciding it was time to stop basking and hide before a bird of prey came soaring over for a late meal. Following the cloud of red back, it was clear he came from a nearby inhabited place though, as all men tended to come. Humans were civilised and homely these days, and it was rare to catch one far from their dwellings.
In the early evening on the prairie plains, familiar sounds played over the field from the little town. A dusty, warm place it was, straight from the Wild West movies with pistol-wielding bandits and righteous sheriffs. This small community had no such armed troublemakers residing at this time, and the worst threats to peace were gossipping churchgoers and the occasional young man having a rowdy moment.
It had been a modest Sunday, and in the early summer heat, most people had spent the day hopping around from shade to shade or taking sweaty naps indoors. At this time, people were having dinner in their homes or finishing their game of poker in the pub, to settle down for the night. What could it be that drove our lone ranger out into the grand outdoors at this time? His siblings had briefly looked around town, the two eldest brothers, young, virile men, trying find their youngest, his sister checking the house they lived in. Eightteen-year old boys didn't disappear into thin air, and nobody thought he had either. It had been a hard day for him today, his mother knew, calmly appeasing her husband with soothing words not to bear a grudge at her dreamer of a son for needing some time alone.
Away from the ruckus he'd left behind, the lost son had settled down on a large rock outcrop, leaning back on his arms with a long, heartfelt sigh. The sullen sound got lost in the heavy air, taken away by a low, hot breeze sweeping over the sand. So there he was, Rekkun Felis. Third child of the well-loved Felis family, named by his late grandmother. To be frank, everyone in town wondered what had made the old hag propose such a name. The last name she'd given to a newly-born relative was Cookie, and the proud bearer of that nomen was Rekkun's younger sister. Even if Rekkun had been entered in the town registry under the name, not even his own mother called him that.
He was San.
_____________________________________________________________________
A heavy mop of ruddish hair, as if it was once an insignificant dark brown that had seeped up the earthen tones, and warm brown eyes in a suntanned face, with a broad-rimmed hat on top. A quite toned physique on a body of unremarkable length, testimony of an active life outdoors. The telltale dirt-streaked pants of your typical roll-in-the-dust male, tucked into heavy leather boots. All that made up this particular Felis. His brothers were both taller and leaner, and sported a noticeably paler complexion. Study-heads and indoor workers they were, not quite like their free-spirited sibling. Even his sister was reigned in and kept a closer eye on than him. Neither of them envied him for his freedom though. It had already brough him grief, and while he could be an insufferable airhead, he was a particular sort of easy-going. People knew him as alert and friendly, and nobody had ever managed to be mad at him for long. It's hard to hold a grudge against a young person who seemed incapable of holding one back, and honestly didn't like it when he grieved someone by accident.
San had grieved people, many times. As a child he'd never had much of a noteworthy attention span or focus, and it always saddened him to find he'd once again forgotten to pick up something for father, having gotten distracted to go and play instead. Needless to say, mister Felis himself wasn't pleased either, and after a series of such incidents, he'd managed to teach his son to avoid such missteps. Little San had been humiliated and had cried, after all, he did his best. Today, Young Adult San knew to thank his old man for his harsh but just education. None of those things were on his mind now though. No, he was thinking about Andrea, once again.
What a dream that had been, a shard of paradise on earth.
His eldest brother, Mitchell, had often teased him about his youthful romance. 'That's one straight from the fairytales', he'd said. The elder people in town thought much the same thing. That didn't deter them from finding the view of a young boy and a young girl playing together the picture of sweeter days though. They'd been a 'pair' since childhood, in all naiveté. Lass moves into town, meets the local lad, and then they married and had a dozen of children and lived happily ever after. That was how it had felt like, for years and years. Andrea had never even considered other young men in town, no matter how they vied for the pretty lady's attention, and had San not broken her heart, she would still be his, she would still be here.
In Arda, maturity comes to a person when he is ready for it, people say. It had taken a long time for San to grow up. A fifteen year old boy telling tales about indians on their ritual hunts, painting his face with ochre and springing around like a young horse, it was quite unheard of. His brothers had already started to take over some of their father's tasks at that age, helped out like grownups, studied literature and new-world technology faithfully. Cookie was being taught everything a modern female should know by her mother and her mother's friends. Nobody had ever deemed San even capable to do the same. He was left in peace, to act on his dreams and whims, free to court his young blossoming love under the watchful eyes of Andrea's mother and his own family. No that he had ever considered doing her reputation any harm, people almost started wondering if they should place bets on when he would gather up the nerve to even kiss her properly.
The townspeople, less than two hundred in total, had fondly looked upon the young duo growing from children, making rock-heaps and gathering flowers in the field for the young lady's imaginative garden, into young adults. The first stir they had caused wasn't as much their fault as it was an unlucky consequence of Andrea's far relatives moving in, a quartet of her cousins. They came from that fabled place called 'the big city', and they'd come to 'get some fresh air'. To San, they had looked like sallow, frigid corpses at first. On a second encounter, this impresson changed to them not only looking like that, but actually being angry wraiths that had snuck into his territory to break the peace and quiet. Of course, this was only his vivid imagination running wild. They were not as healthy as most people 'out here', but that didn't mean they actually lived in the earth under gravestones, as San had claimed once in a frustrated tirade to his Andrea.
They'd wanted to take her away from him. They'd made her sad, so they couldn't possibly be the 'good guys'. San couldn't understand why they said it was wrong of him to be with her. Why should she start 'dressing up nice'? She looked beautiful in pants, too, and you couldn't go bareback horseriding in a hoola-hoop skirt. No sense those men. Why was it wrong to take a girl out in a rainstorm to celebrate the new season, she'd never caught a cold from it before, and she said she greatly enjoyed those moments.
Yes, when Andrea's cousins had confronted San about his grave misconduct, he hadn't been very complacent, showing just how stubborn he could be. His own siblings had looked upon the unfolding family drama, wary to try and get him to grow some common sense at last. He'd never been a problem to anyone before, and they liked him too well to betray him now. It was an empty sort of pity that held them back, and only after a long ordeal would San show them he was worthy of more trust than that.
The first argument was brought to an abrupt end with a nicely aimed punch to the face, with San on the receiving end. A move the four brothers would regret, as it set Andrea up against them. The next months were anything but blissful for the couple. For the first time, they were faced with intolerance, reproachful looks instead of complacent nods and smiles. San endured it for her, unaware his sweet lass would rather have shared in the burden than see him get the full brunt of the blame.
Mitchell called these months 'the second act of the play'. San could never tell if he was joking or not. He and Andrea spent a lot of time together out on the plains, away from their home that had now become a suffocating nest of wary gossip and the occasional direct attack. If the cousins knew what they did all by their lonesome, they'd probably have locked her indoors. San could truthfully assure them he did 'nothing of that sort'when pressed, though.
In their hours away from home, leaving the tension and the complex rules of society behind, he tutored her. Years before, he'd started teaching her how to make a wooden bow. And how to aim and shoot at cacti. By now, he had picked up more skills himself. His steady hand and patient mind had made one of the old coots pick him up as a part-time student and taught San his marksmanship. Later, he'd relayed this skill to his friend. Even if Andrea never came close to matching him, it were carefree hours spent together in heavy focus. Making very loud noises in the open prairie was also an excellent way to rid oneself of stress.
Then came the 'third act', as Mitchell said. The situation stabilised, the thunderclouds moved on, leaving a lighter, happier world. Andrea was quick to boast that they'd shown her relatives who was boss, rejoicing in their victory. They'd given up, they were beaten, the forces of the good prevailed! Indeed, the time they were to spend in the great outlands was coming to an end, and they had stopped accosting the pair. With a defeated acceptance, they left them be, even encouraged them to go and be happy.
Yet San couldn't smile. This had never been about winning or losing, didn't they see? Now that the force he'd been struggling against faded away, he got the room to think clearly. Andrea's parents would be leaving with their relatives, to that big city of miracles. Before the arrival of the four, Andrea'd always spoken of it with the words of a wonder-filled child, seven or seventeen years old. San had listened to her tales, smiling and nodding and knowing this was the place for her. The older he grew, the more he came to realise that while this was where she would belong, he would not follow. Now was the time for her to leave. If she didn't, she'd lose everything she had. Her future and her family, who despite everything they'd done that saddened her, still cared about her like nobody else in the world could. He'd always known, somehow.
The fourth act Mitchell never recognised as such. Fairytales don't end with the prince casting away the princess.
That was what San did though. He told Andrea to go. Go with them. At first, she believed he was joking. He wasn't serious about this, nah. He couldn't be. Not after all this.
But he wasn't joking, he wasn't pulling her leg, he wasn't being funny for shock-value. Go with them. He pleaded her to go, with a deep melancholy resounding in his voice as he told her the words he knew would break her heart.
Playtime is over, my sweet Andrea. We can't remain like this forever, we both know that. If you linger, you will lose everything you could have ever had. The people who love you and worry about you, the adventures in the city you spoke of so passionately, the modern tinker-things and the music and the colour... and for what? For a silly young Mexican son of a gun who dances with the prairiedogs in the spring rainshowers and will never, ever, be able to provide for you this way. You know you need more than childlike wonder, everyone grows up. You will grow weary, and curse the day you decided to abandon your future for the mirage of living in a dream forever.
Go with them.
His soul cried for her when she wept, pained with the knowledge he'd shattered a fragile illusion he'd held up for so long. She hurt him back. 'I don't know you anymore', she'd said. 'Why are you betraying me, you're in league with them aren't you?', and 'All you want is to stunt me and keep me locked up in a cage!'.
San let her rage, burst out that bittersweet tirade, knowing fully well all he wanted for her was to grow happy. She didn't need him for that... the world was larger than they both could ever encompass, surely there were good men out there who would love her and care for her and provide for her. Not without a wry feeling of irony did he acknowledge the worth of her four cousins who'd so valiantly defended her, yielding only to his blind stupidity because their animosity towards him grieved her.
Act five wasn't a real act anymore, the story was over. It started with her cold goodbye -at least she had spared a moment for her old friend, now demoted to jerk-of-the-town. She had coolly called him by his given name, and it had made him wince. Ever since his face-heel turn she had tried to change his mind, desperately wanting her friend back the way he was. He didn't give into the temptation, for her sake. And then, she was gone. Andrea, and her parents who'd always treated him well, and her cousins. Her mother had left him a vague address, with strange codes that apparently lead to where she would live now, but he didn't see how that would help. In this little dump, people didn't need an address. More importantly though, he didn't plan on going to see her again. Not anytime soon, at least. No, never again.
Dreams aren't meant to last. He'd woken up now, and the new day was hard to face.
The last months had changed him. San was no longer the child he'd been before. He dutifully helped his family and the townsfolk with their tasks, volunteered more, played less. He was home for dinner on time more often, and even got around to helping his mother in the kitchen. His father's speeches finally found another listening ear, and Mitchell was even allowed to try and teach him how to multiply with numbers over twenty. He learned, and fast, if without much animo. Word spread that he'd contracted some sort of disease, why else would he suddenly lack his usual abundance of energy? The old whispering ladies were eventually silenced by the town medic, who claimed San was perfectly fine after giving the reluctant youth a quick exam. They settled on shaking their heads and lamenting about the poor child losing his spark whenever he passed after the discussion that followed. Nobody seemed to truly realise he was eightteen by now, and hardly a child anymore.
While he was generally praised for his change in attitude amongst the professional workers, they noted a remarkable lack of concentration in him as well. Even in his most productive moods could he suddenly fall into a slump and stare off into space, looking quite noticeably distraught. After the vicar repeated the medic's procedure and stated that his soul was intact, only adding a bottle of holy water on his nightstand, the superstitious idea of a demon leeching off his health was abandoned also. As the weeks crept by and Andrea's departure faded from the collective of topics to be chatted about, San's state hardly improved. She was always on his mind. Regrets filled his days, worries his sleepless nights. He only grew more skilled in hiding his distress. Sometimes he just fled, to get away from it all. Then he would venture out, far out. Not to play sill games, not to rejoice in the celebration of life this dry dusty place could be, no. Only to be, to try and find the silence again. When had his mind become incapable of quietening down? He really wasn't good at this mature thing yet... nobody else seemed to have trouble doing what they thought was right.
_____________________________________________________________________
So there he was now. Once again stuck in that loophole of thoughts and memories, almost wishing he could turn back time and start over. He only didn't actually long for that because he knew he'd do it all over again, just the same.
At last he was jolted from his reverie by a harsh cry of someone closing in on him. The sound of the man's voice was like a splash of frigid water, aimed right into the neck, and made him wince. The chill faded when he realised it was Old Coot, and he turned his head to face him, with a forced smile. He'd always liked the man, and his expression was warm and welcoming.
“.. why you..” the haggard elder was slipping out of his tirade with very second he was forced to look into that face. “I knew I'd find you here.” he halted a few paces away from the youth and sighed as if he was lamenting the tragic loss of another good pair of shoes. Never much of an actor he had been, and his tone made San chuckle.
“I'm sorry pops.. I lost track of time.” he grinned, sounding genuinely apologetic.
“Again. Lad, that's the fourth time this week You really have to snap out of it, you hear me.” he shook his head. “Now, my lady's waitin' for me, you better make sure you get home now, on the double.” Already he made to turn back. His 'lady' didn't like it when he came home late, and he didn't like having dinner cold. Being punctual was a win-win situation.
San nodded placidly, slid off the rock he was perched on and half-heartedly patted the red dust off his trousers. He glanced aside to see Old Coot wander back to his cosy home, and only straightened to follow once he was out of earshot. As he started to walk, he saw the old man cast a look back over his shoulder, and he responded with a wary smile. Aw, shoo. I'm coming, I'm coming...
He took his time, solemnly kicking up sand with every step he took to idly marvel in the cloudy patterns he produced. Only when the elder had dissappeared behind one of the sheds at the edge of town did he speed up his pace. Soon enough he was back into the long shade of the houses, loosely striding past the pub. Yup, still people having a late drink, entertaining the bartender and possibly discussing things like new rolls for the piano or a new beer the big city had churned out. It made him smile, knowing things would probably never change, not overnight. Maybe in twenty years, but he had no idea where this town would be, where he himself would be. For the time being he envisioned himself as the town idiot. What a marvelous future.. tolerated and pitied. The way things were going he wondered if it would take that long at all. Maybe he already was the fool of the neighbourhood, more then the Donovan's little mentally challenged daughter. Sweet child, if a handful to look after.
The young gunslinger nearly tripped over a wooden stool when he rounded a corner, and noticed that soon, night would fall. That magical hour in which everything was blue, and all contrasts were reduced to nothing until the moon would rise in the pitch black. The buildings' shadows were thrown far and solid, leaving brilliant amber cuts where the sunlight slipped through the slits between the houses. As soon as he felt the urge to start dwelling in those golden flecks, he berated himself. Don't make things worse now, Old Coot will be sad if he hears you didn't head straight home.
Doggedly heading on, his hands went to his hips, felt for the two pistols he'd been granted for his sixteenth birthday. That they let him walk around with those, locked and loaded, at least proved they didn't think he was some sort of dangerous psychopath. He took pride in knowing proper weapon protocol and keeping the twins polished and safe to handle. Just as he slowed down, getting lost in thought again, quiet sounds attracted his attention. He dazedly looked into the direction they were coming from, and felt intimidated for a moment. Never before had he found himself overwhelmed before by standing in the shadow of the bank.
The sturdy building was proof of one of this little town's most prided functions. For the small amount of people living here, a bank was hardly necessary, but that counted for the surrounding villages as well. A small dozen of other communities had confided in San's town, known for its just sherrif and calm inhabitants, to be the safe haven for the people's most treasured goods and savings. Nobody was supposed to be here at this time...
San halted, moved closer to the front porch, instinctively falling into a low crouch. Whoever had talked before had ceased now, but... there was movement in there, definitely. A quick glance around affirmed that nobody was in the street right now, oh dear. Maybe he should alert the neighbours? No, whatever could THEY do... A young married couple and their parents with a small child, no. Only their old pops knew how to wield a gun, and he suffered from his old age enough to be unrelia- ...
What WAS he thinking now. He could've smacked himself up the head. A bank robbery, sure. Such things happened in Mitchell's children novels, and in towns far far away. He might as well start running around yelling the prairie fairies had finally arrived. Yes, think this over first, then decide if you'll go and-
And there was that noise again. He held back a gasp and crept closer, soundlessly making his way around the porch through the sand, then carefully climbed up the edge of it to peek through the dirty window. The first glimpse of movement inside was enough to make him duck under again, hanging onto the porch rail with a racing heart. It took him a while to summon up the nerve to take a second peek. Maybe his imagination was playing tricks on him now?
Eventually he dared pull himself up a bit again and took a careful look inside. Didn't anyone EVER clean these windows? What a shame. Maybe he'd ask the supervisor if he could do it sometime. He'd almost headed off on that tanjent when he now clearly saw something, someone stir. His mind stilled, and headed into prowling-modus. He squinted to try and make out details, but all he could tell is that whoever was inside didn't want to attract attention. Hunched over posture, busy movements but not a word said... and oho, there was the accomplice. He didn't recognise either as someone from in town right away, but he couldn't see this clearly enough. He lowered himself back down to the ground, felt the weight of his guns by his sides. Now don't go paranoid. It could be pranksters...
Shivering in the shadow, San strafed around, flitted up the porch and pressed himself against the wooden outer wall beside the door, that was opened slightly. A measure many people took to let the buildings air out at night and prevent cats from getting stuck inside, and everybody knew that people who wanted to break into the bank would not be held back by a simple wooden door anyway. They'd most likely entered through a window further at the back. Again, San realised how silly he must look now. He was riling himself up, right? This was just a game of indians and cowboys and he was the only one playing. A nearly grown man having a solo session, yeah. By the bank, for laughs.
No, wait. Voices from inside, tensely hushed. Or did they only sound that way because he warped them in his head? They were definitely saying something though... He made a little o-mouth when his mind vocalised a loud and dramatical 'whoooops' upon making out they'd heard something. Quiet footsteps padding towards the door, oh ye god, one was coming to check. He heard the familiar click of a shotgun's safety handle.
When a pale brown eye peeked out the dark, glancing around in a way San almost heard the noise of a snuffling rat to accompany the sight, it found nothing. Mere inches below the man's line of view, San had slid down to his haunches trying to appear tiny and insignficant. Apparently it had worked, because he obviously hadn't been detected. The eye disappeared back into the black and muttered something at number two. It left the young man in quite a pinch. What now? He still hadn't confirmed they were up to anything bad, but now he was certain they weren't from around here. If they WERE robbers, thieves.. No, he couldn't let them damage his peaceful hometown's reputation, he wouldn't let them steal hard-working people's goods. But.. if he ran now, they might be alerted... Maybe they'd already be gone by the time he got help, and still, what if he as just seeing things. Dad would lynch him for sure if he ever pulled a 'boy cries wolf'.
San could have spent all evening pondering his next step, hadn't circumstances pressed him to make a decision. A dull sound from inside reverbed through the entire structure without warning, and a trickle of dust rinsed down from the roofing panes. It startled him, made him look around, was the building still intact? No broken wooden poles? No, he'd have heard that...
What had that been then, what's going on? He carefully stood up, and looked inside through the window. He resisted the urge to groan. There was a large hole in the wooden inner wall now, and the two men were attempting to lug one of the heavy vaults out through the gap. That tremor earlier must've been caused by them heaving it over the bump they hadn't been able to hack down. At least there was no doubt now, they were burglars, robbers, thieves, scumbags from out of town! If he let them get away now... They wouldn't get far with their load, not at all, not without proper transportation...
The thought had barely crossed his mind when he slunk off the porch again, and tiptoed along the side of the bank house. He stifled a cry of joy when he found they had indeed brought their own rides... No less than six horses, and well-trained ones too. How could anyone have missed those? A look left and right made it clear that their town had made a mistake in planning here. No back porches or lawns at this end of town. They were planned, but nobody actually had a clear view on the back of this row, unless the family two houses down the street harboured someone who enjoyed peeking out the small top window. At this time of the day. A closer look around gave him the hunch that pair had been here a few times before, probably to inspect he place and observe the neighbourhood.
The idea made the young gunner's blood boil with righteous fury. How dare they! Why would anyone want to take things that weren't theirs to begin with, of this kind of value? He'd never understood that. At least in stories there was good and evil, but he couldn't believe people with a heart and soul were capable of such atrocities. Little did he know just how sheltered he'd lived.
Acting upon a whim, he snuck to the horses that quietly stood arranged, tied together to pull their load. They shifted out of the way a bit, snorted at him, but he wasn't afraid, and he knew how to keep his presence from feeling like a threat. It took him only a minute to figure out how the chainlinks worked, and soon enough, he had buckled them all loose from the carriage. Not a bad idea, this way they'd be stuck here. At least, that was the plan when he sent them scurrying. Two of them ran off, the remaining four lingered around undecisively, as if they knew they weren't actually supposed to go.
Never before had equines irked San so, and he stomped after them, shooed them off. Go you, go away, be free! Don't let these dastardly men abuse you for their schemes, shoo! Eventually he did manage to scare them off, and as he watched the dustclouds rise in the ever reddening sunlight, he suddenly became very, very aware of the ruckus he'd made. Hurrying back to the bank, he cringed when one of the horses whinnied in the distance. Immediately the voices from inside started talking again, in gruff panicky barks, however hushed. From one side of the building, steps approached, and San hurried to run around the other side. What now, what now? He couldn't go back, and he'd left a trail now too, he'd come after him now. Staying in the narrow alley wasn't an option, in a matter of moments that guy would come and check. So he scuttled further around, up the front porch again. The second voice resounded from further away now, he must've joined his partner.
Remaining still like a hare on watch, San tried to listen over the sound of the blood rushing in his head. They were talking behind the house now and their voices became fainter and fainter. Slowly, he released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding; would they really be gone now? He didn't know, he couldn't know. He stood up, terrified to make a sound, tiptoed over to the open door and peeked inside. No movement. No reaction to a nudge against the door either, and after five long seconds, he opened it further, and stepped inside cautiously. Like a bobcat on unknown territory he treaded carefully, managing to hardly make a sound on the woodchips and the gravel inside. A brief inspection of the toppled vault had him stifle a relieved sigh. The lock was untouched.
The adrenalin rush was wearing off quickly now. There hadn't been a sound in minutes, neither in- nor outdoors, and he'd begun to feel safer again. It was only when he heard a sharp click, too close by for comfort, that he realised he'd made a crucial mistake somewhere.
The third man probably thought the same. You stay behind while we go check it out, sure. His nerves were already frayed, and the sight of a local was sending his mind reeling. At the sight of the two pistols by the young man's side, he'd readied his shotgun, hands shaking. And shot.
San had whipped around towards the sound and frozen. Too close, much too close. His eyes widened in shock when he stared right into the haggard face of another male, pale and sweaty and just as terrified as he was.
The sound of the gun that was pointed at his abdomen firing drowned out both their cries.
____________________________________________________________________
Well this had gone wrong, big time...
The force of the impact sent San reeling, threw him onto his back, a pain like he'd never experienced before surging through his body. In the excrutiatingly long seconds before he fell unconscious, he couldn't pin his mind on anything. The unreal feeling of catching a glimpse of structures in your body nobody was ever supposed to see, it paled in comparison to the deadening realisation that no matter why or how, you were going to die.
How would he explain this to his father, his sister, everyone? He wouldn't, he'd never talk to them again. Andrea would never know, he'd never passed on her address to his mother.
How would the robbers fare, would they be judged? He almost felt sorry for that haggard weak trembling man who was leaning over him, looking like he wanted to eat his hat and choke on it. The shotgun lay discarded, would never be used again. Mister Felis would surely confiscate it. He was a thorough man. His only failure had been the education of his youngest son.
San loved him, he loved them all so, he was sorry for all he'd done, for the mess he'd made now. Yet again, if he got the chance to do it all over... He knew he would make the same mistakes all over again. He was who he was, a free spirit apparently doomed to a short existence.
I'm sorry guys... everyone.
I'm sorry.
For months, his mind hadn't been able to find silence. Now, after a surge of all worries, all pain and all regrets, it quietened.
In the early end, San was left to darkness.
[there ye have et. *whistles* any comments? feel free to drop'em by]
Graficcha Community Member 
|
|
