446: Raph Wanders

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 I

Raph talks a good game about how much he loves being alone, but the truth of the matter is that he's never really had all that much experience at it. Storming off with the knowledge that someone is following close behind is entirely different than actually being alone. It's not as easy as he was expecting, and no where near as much fun as he thought or imagined. He misses food that tastes like something other than roasted what-ever-he-could-scrounge-and-put-onna-stick, but that's not really what gets him. What gets him is how much he misses companionship. This isn't to say that Cloud isn't a fantastic conversationalist, because he is, especially when Raph is providing the pony's voice for him, which he does a lot these days. Yes, Raph has fallen prey to the most powerful of solo travel vices: he talks to himself. And not just to himself, but to any and everything that comes his way, especially inanimate objects. And any inanimate objects that dare disobey order are soundly reprimanded and damned to places that not even a wild-eyed fundamentalist would dare think of sending something as innocent as a rock. When talking loses its novelty Raph turns to singing. First quietly, but as time wears on as loudly as he dares...which is pretty loud. The overall landscape seems unimpressed with his sterling renditions of Corduroy, Boy Named Sue, and Long Black Veil.

Needless to say the last few weeks have been very long weeks. As always Master Splinter was right; when falling back always have a position in mind, a location to strive to reach, to not have one is folly and will only lead to one place: your defeat.

Raph had a good plan to start with: head to the next town, barter for provisions, head back out again. It's just that after two weeks one becomes bored of heading back out...again. Especially when that again is at one horse power, and not say the 300 plus one was used to back home. But he's not home, as he reminds the world around him often, and usually loudly. He's in the middle of where-ever-here-is going in whatever direction he's been going until something makes him stop. It's not much of a plan but it's all he has and changing it now would be the same as turning back. That right there is just not an option. So he presses on, watching the landscape shift one plodding step at a time.

Comments

II

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"Whattaya think o' that, Cloud? A real freakin' ocean."
Raph breathes in deep letting the salt air overtake him. The smell reminds him of New York Harbor and he can't help but smile.
"Too clean for its own good, but it'll do. It'll do just fine."

Later, when he tells the story of how he got there, he'll say it was the pull of the ocean that lead him, and not a month and a half of wandering aimlessly.

III

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For the past couple of weeks Raph has spent the majority of his free time lurking in one of the many out of the way corners of the Disgruntled Seahorse. As Tortalian taverns go the Disgruntled Seahorse isn't half bad; it's relatively clean, has decent food, and the beer actually has a flavor that isn't room temperature urine. What makes it the best watering hole Port Legann has to offer is that it manages all of the above while still being in close proximity to the docks. In short, it is the perfect place for unscrupulous people with scrupulous eating habits to find unscrupulous work. What use are questionably skilled laborers if they show up to the job with food poisoning or cholera?

Raph takes a drink as he waits for the normal lunch crowd come in and take their usual places. There's a lot to be learned when one watches the world over the rim of a stein. Like, for instance, his first lesson: that no one offers jobs to guys who don't drink, which effectively put the kibosh on his self-imposed teetotaling. Food may very well grow on trees, but the money to buy it does not and the same can be said about horse lodging, which is the reason, Raph tells himself, that he and Cloud stopped in Port Legann in the first place. It certainly wasn't because the road is a weary place to be, and on the move a wearier way to live, but because the pony could use some down time and pampering. Yup. Totally.

He sighs, and tries to shake the bad thoughts out of his head. He's not here to find solace in the bottom of a tankard, he's here to find today's job so he can get today's pay. Which won't happen, Raph tells himself, until Rick shows. Good guy, that Rick, he pays what he feels you've earned, and pays more when he trusts you to not skim off the top. Amazing how things work; you show up on time, do what's asked of you, don't give no lip, and people reward you for it? Raph chuckles to himself.

"The world is a strange, strange place," he muses mostly to himself.

"You don't know the half of it, Friend," replies Gareth the barkeep. Gareth is a great giant of a man with a large black bushy beard, and a voice so deep that all it takes is a good laugh from him to set the crockery behind the bar to rattle. "Strange days are upon us."

"That so. Lemme guess, someone saw a white whale or somethin', right?"

"They say the Griffin is afoot in these parts."

Gareth's news has no effect on Raph, not even so much as a raised eyebrow.

"He is of the Shang."

"The martial arts guys?"

"Aye."

"Yeah...so, so what?"

"You mock because you are young and new to this area, Raph, but look around you, hmmm? Not so many out today as usual."

Raph turns and gives the tavern a once over. Gareth isn't kidding, the place should be hopping, but it isn't.

"Huh, so where the hell is everyone?"

"Home where they think they are safe."

"From what? A guy who calls himself the Griffin? Seriously?"

"It is no wonder you're scarred as you are for someone so young. The Shang blend in with everyone else, no one around here dares do business with strangers for fear of offending and inciting their wrath. Mothers keep their children close, out of fear that their young ones will be chosen and taken away to live a life far shorter than most."

"Yeah yeah yeah, I know all 'bout 'em, just didn't think."

Gareth makes a noise that indicates he does not consider Raph to be a great thinker. "Your friend Rick, well, it is said that he has crossed one man too many. You'll not see him here this day."

"Really? Rick? He seemed like such an upstanding guy."

"Says the one who never questions what sort of business Rick is in, or the nature of the goods he's moving."

"A'right, point. So what you're tellin' me here is that I'm wastin' my time, 'cause no one's going to be hirin' today. That right?"

"As the one serving you, no I would never say that. But as a friend, yes that is exactly what I'm saying."

IV

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Not everyone, it seems, share's Gareth's opinion of the Shang. Oh sure some of the darker element of Port Legann recede back into their respective holes, but not everyone has something to hide. Neighborhoods usually quiet after the sun has set spring to life knowing there's less to fear out there in the dark. And not all parents are looking to hide their children from prying eyes. The sleepy lull of lunch time is now often shattered by the thunder of little feet playing any number of street games, and all without a dirty ear or face in sight. Even Raph finds himself being swept up in the momentum of it all.

With jobs down by the waterfront all but dried up he's been forced a bit more in-land in order to keep up with his stable payments. Today he's helping to repair a sheep enclosure for a weaver he's recently befriended.

"Seriously Steph, you'd really be okay with some random guy comin' in an' just up an' takin' Squid away?" He says gesturing to the small boy playing with one of the younger lambs.

She laughs as she attempts to maintain some control over her flock.
"You make it sound so sinister, Raph. It's not as if Robin would be stolen away in the night. It's a great honor to be chosen to study with the Shang. The education and training he would receive would rival that offered to nobles at the Palace. It is the opportunity of a lifetime."

"Yeah, I guess," he concedes. The Commoner/Nobility divide is one aspect of Tortallian life that Raph never could get quite a grip on. Unlike his curiosity, that he has tight rein on. "So, any idea what this Griffin looks like?" Or you know...not.

"Only that he is young and blends perfectly into the crowd. To be honest for a time I considered him to be you, but...well..."

"What I don't blend?" His grin is wry.

"I believe that the Shang have a greater skill at ducking than you seem to possess."

"Ow! Geez, winter come early this year or what? 'Cause it just got damn frosty out here. You know, you're lucky I like you."

"And I am glad for that, if for no other reason than my newly repaired fence. You will stay for dinner, won't you?"

"You don't gotta feed me, you know."

"I do, but how else can I be sure that the apples I'm repaying you with make it to your friend at the stables if I don't first feed you?"

"Touche."

V

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The Shang Griffin wasn't all that difficult to find once you realized what you were looking for: Someone traveling alone, neither hiding nor posturing, but moving with the complacency that comes from knowing that you're the only one who can deal with any scrap that may happen by. In short, the person trying the hardest to not look like they're trying at all. Someone with a keen eye on the city, a good ear to the ground, and a whole lot of luck could have found him in a week.
Raph found him in a matter of days, and watched his comings and goings for a week after that. In that time Raph has learned that the Griffin goes by the name of Anthony, is either always unarmed, or has his weapons very cleverly concealed, and that his only true vice is a sweet tooth he satisfies in the occasional cake. Aside from that he is a completely unremarkable man in every way. Even the man's black tightly-curled hair goes unnoticed in a land where redheads with violet eyes run rampant.

Nearly two weeks after he begin spying on him, Raph decides to approach Anthony in one of the lesser taverns of Merchant District. The Shang sits by one of the few windows hunched over a random piece of parchment scribbling away in language that Raph can't read.

"I hear you're lookin' for students."

"Stranger things have happened," says Anthony not looking up from what can only be equasions.

"I got one for you, should you be interested."

"Is that so." He looks up with bland interest. "Well bring the child around and let me have a look at them."

"There ain't no child. I want you to teach me."

His expression remains placid as he gives Raph the once over.
"No."

"What do you mean, no. Why not, I ain't good enough to learn from you?"

"No. You're not. You're too old, for one. For another you reek of magic, and we don't train those with the gift. And to be quite honest, I only teach those actually interested in learning, not a thug looking for an extra weapon in a tavern brawl." For all the sharp edges his words have, the man's tone is kept light, pleasant, and matter of fact. It's probably what makes what he says sting all that much more.

Raph's eyes narrow and his jaw sets.
"Any way I could convince you otherwise?"

"Doubtful, at very best."

"I guess that's all that needs sayin' then, huh?"

"I do wish you the best of luck."

"Don't need luck," is all Raph says before turning on his heels and walking out of the tavern. It's only after he's outside that he realizes his hands have balled themselves into fists.

VI

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If the Griffin is surprised to find Raph camped outside of his cottage, it doesn't show. No instead the Shang warrior merely nods a silent greeting as he passes on his way inside, presumably to retire for the evening. When the morning comes Raph is still there, and the Griffin once again politely acknowledges his presence before passing, but no actual words are exchanged between the two men. This continues on for the better part of a week, with Raph not moving, and the Griffin merely going around him as if the ex-turtle was just another fixture in the landscape.

Lessons in patience are not new to Raph, they were one of Splinter's favorite forms of torture for his ever impulsive student. And for good reason, Raph hated them more than just about anything else. Give him any repetitive task and he'd do it with little complaint, but ask him to hold a pose or to meditate for an unspecified amount of time and you might as well have asked for the impossible. Raph was always in a rush, always trying to get to the next task, the next lesson, the next goal, the next win. But now, now he has no goals and there is no win in sight. He had no where to go but here, and here is where he'll remain.

VII

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It doesn't really matter how one gets where they are in dreams; one second you're nowhere and the next somewhere. This particular somewhere is a place Raph would know from anywhere, it's Milliways...and yet not. The overall layout is the same as it has always been; the front door, the tables and chairs, the bar. Something isn't right though, and as Raph walks into the room he becomes very acutely aware of what that something is: all of the chairs have been placed seat down on the table tops. It's almost as if The Management is trying to give the one lone patron the not-so-subtle hint that it's closing time and that while he doesn't have to go home, he can't stay here. That patron in question isn't Raph, it's the tall pale man in black seated at the bar. He's leisurely nursing his beverage, a nameless drink that Raph can't identify but something in the back of his mind believes it to be a White Russian.

Re: VII

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"Yo, buddy. I think they want us gone."

The man says nothing. He doesn't even turn to acknowledge Raph's existence.

"Hello? You deaf or somethin'? I said they want us outta here. Looks like they're closing shop."

Out the window the universe appears to bruise. Now angry, Raph crosses the space between them at a march.

"What the fuck, man. You blowin' me off?" The moment he lays a hand on the pale stranger he knows him to be the Dark God, and that drink he's holding isn't a White Russian at all, but wine so dark it looks freshly bled.

Raph staggers back a few steps, swallows hard, and finds himself giving voice to a fear he's long held.
"This is the end, ain't it. It's the end and...she....she ain't comin' for me, is she? Ain't ever."

The man, still looking forward, sighs.

He regains his bravado.
"Yeah, well that suits me just fine. I don't need her anyway."

Now the man swirls his drink, watching as all the liquor forms legs which slowly form and ooze down their way down the inside of his glass.

"No, you know what? It ain't fine. It sucks, is what it does. I waited for her! I spent an entire year waiting for her. Just waiting for her to come and make it all stop. Oh I could have made her, but...I didn't want to have to have to seem me like that. It was bad enough I was broken as I was...as I am. I didn't need her to see me wanting to be out of my misery, even though...that's all I fucking wanted at all!"

The man holds the glass to the light now, admiring the jewel tones of the liquid.

"IT AIN'T FAIR, YOU HEAR ME? What they did to me wasn't fair! I didn't do nothing to them. I fuckin' saved them. All I do is fucking save them, people....HUMANS, time and time again. From themselves. From each other. And it still ain't enough. Still a freak no matter what I do, or what I look like, or where ever the fuck I am! Nothing ever changes! Nothing's ever right! And they ain't got no fucking right to do what they did to me! I was there to HELP them! Tie me to a table. Cut me up inside. Two years of my life they took! Two! Two I'll never get back! And for what? Because I was different!? And now this?! Stuck in your fucking dimension just because? What gave you the right to do that, huh? I ain't some pawn for you to fuckin' toy around with! What's the matter, got tired of actually playing with people who actually believe in you? Felt like you had to branch out?"

Slowly, as if completely immune to the ranting beside him, the man raises his glass to his lips and drinks.

"HEY! Don't you fuckin' ignore me! I'm right the fuck here! I'm not going anywhere! I'm staying right the fuck here! I'm staying here until I get some fucking answers!"

And with that Raph knocks the glass out of the man's hand.

Re: VII

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Time passes slowly as the glass flies through the air and crashes down on the floor behind the bar. It's only after the last shatter of glass has come to rest that the man turns towards Raph. There's no anger in the God's face, in fact there's really no emotion at all.

Get over it.

The words aren't said so much as imprinted in Raph's mind. Actually, with the force they are received it's possible the words have been imprinted down to his very DNA.

The dark god stands and claps Raph on the shoulder....hard.

Get over her.

He passes the ex-turtle and makes his way for the door, pausing only to issue his last command once his own hand is on the doorknob.

And yourself.

The Dark God shuts off the lights and exits, making sure to close the door behind him leaving Raph alone in the dark.

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Raph wakes in a cold sweat and gasping for air. Slowly the world around him comes into focus, and for the first time in a long time he's thankful that he's not in a bar.

"About time," says a voice from the doorway of the nearby cottage where Anthony leans on the door frame. "Didn't anyone ever teach you that it's bad form to keep your instructors waiting?"