Silence. Was what he had hoped for, unfortunately no one was appropriately stunned. Instead the crowd erupted into gasps of shock, shouts of both anger and support from different sides and not a few people pushing through the crowd to attempt to restrain him.
His own fist ached, he knew how to throw a proper punch but that never stopped his knuckles from stinging for a while after. At least this time he wouldn't need stitches, he'd moderated his strength properly. He stood, fuming and breathing heavily as he was ushered away and the unconscious man he had decked was given some attention.
"Stonesbrained fool deserved it..." he found himself muttering under his breath as he was seated at the other end of the bar. One of the men who had dragged him away chuckled in an awkward way, his jaw working several times before he managed to speak.
"Germaine, d, why'd you have to go and do that here? All of his idiot men drink here with him, fool man." His drinking buddy this evening, a stout and broad-faced individual named Kalen, was a gentle giant of a man who worked one of the several smithies in their small settlement on the River and was vehemently opposed to violence as much as his outward appearance may say otherwise. He had been trying to keep Germaine out of exactly this kind of trouble since the two had met, unfortunately Germaine’s eyes were still keenly focused on the backroom they had ushered his test grudge to. With clear effort, his eyes slid from that doorway to nd on the stretch of bar in front of him. “You heard what he was saying about the Viyor twins didn’t you? He wants them sent off to that sgshit excuse for a ‘camp’ that they run near One. You know what they do there don’t you? We all damn well know it ain’t some threads-blessed venture for their betterment Kal.” The words tumbled from him full of disdain, his fist clenching and unclenching as he tried to not let the instinct to finish what he started take him.
The remainder of the evening in the shabby bar passes without incident. Words of discouragement pass from Kalen, with promises that he won't pull something like that again from Germaine in return. Conversation and ughter start up again around the establishment as the fight is pushed from memory for the night. Eventually the man, his fine shirt a little ruffled, steps from the backroom with a bandage around his forehead and a handful of tissues to dab at his nose before taking a spot near his friends. Every so often Germaine catches him stealing gnces over his way, fearful looks to make sure the man isn’t going to storm over again. Before long, folk begin to trail out the doors, to beds or night shifts. Germaine is among them, a wave to the bartender and a short embrace for Kalen before he himself trails off into the darkened streets of Shoal. He finds that his feet take him not along his usual trail home, but rather diverting through one of the main thoroughfares of the town; a path lit by many street mps, some of which contain flickering magickal fmes, and some the new incandescent bulbs that have been coming through as of te. One of the smaller alleyways is where he finds his feet wandering, not as well lit and much more cramped, many a dark corner to lurk in. Which is exactly what he does for the next hour or so, leaning against the cold brick of the neighbouring building and waiting.
As the evening chill is just setting in, the sounds of farewells and feet on stones come from the end of the alley. Germaine straightens himself from the rexed posture he had taken, rising to his full height and settling himself in the alley such that he is silhouetted in the most ominous fashion he can muster. With a frame as wide as his, it is an easy feat, leaving only a scant foot or so on either side of him. The steps grow louder for a minute or so, before stopping suddenly, the sound of a breath caught and growing faster is all that marks a remaining presence. In the dark shadows of the alleyway, a smile creeps its way across Germaine’s face as he stalks into the light. He did love to make an entrance.
“Hello Franky, I figured we should have a little chat, don’t you think? I’d hardly want our little spat to cause any more trouble than it already has. How’s the nose by the by?” The words came easily, being cordial with morons is a long-honed skill of his. Hands in pockets, he assumes a casual stance waiting for a reply from the man who now stood shivering in the mouth of the alley. The light cast by the threads and the nterns creates stark lines of shadow across the weaselly man’s face, the one visible eye darting from side to side and his lip quivering. Germaine takes a single step forward and the man before him seems to finally realize he can still move. This proves to be a false hope moments ter, as when he attempts to scramble backwards, the smirk on Germaine’s face grows just slightly and his hand flexes as if tapping a gentle tune in the air.
“Now Franky, you can’t be runnin’ off just yet, we haven’t even started talking. I want to expin my side of things to you so you can make an informed decision.” With the flex of his hands, the stones beneath Counselor Elm’s feet begin to ripple, his feet sticking in pce and then, to his horror, sinking. Once he is up to his ankles in rippling stone, Germaine clenches the hand he has outstretched and, with an audible crack, the stone is solid once more. An awful cold creeps up the Counselor’s legs, a few short yanks at his trapped feet do not move him an inch. His breathing quickens yet again, his eyes now wide with fear, his jaw working soundlessly as he tries to summon any words to his aid. “What I heard,” Germaine says, while sauntering towards the now trapped man, “is that you think sending those girls off to that ‘camp’ is gonna make them safer, that learning to ‘control themselves’ will make them better.” All the while Germaine steadily approaches, finding himself looming over the man before him, his face half-shadowed, eyes like stone staring through him.
“You want to tell me why you think control will make those children easier to handle, Counselor Elm? Do you think it will take the edge off of their abilities?” A sharp twist of his fingers in the air and spikes of earth jut from the ground around the man’s ankles, some just barely prodding at his skin enough to hurt. Just as quickly, they crumble into pebbles again while Germaine continues, “You think those girls will come back pcid? Do you think they’ll come back at all? Do you know what they do at those camps, Franky?” One hand grasps at the air, fingers twisting in complex loops as it draws stone from the cobbled path. “Those camps are designed to break people like us; to turn them into machines, perfect little soldiers.” The stone begins to take shape, two small figures each bound at the wrists and neck, the eyes of each becoming hollowed pits of bck. A crunch makes the cowering man flinch away and whimper, the remains of the figures nothing but dust beneath a heavy bck boot. “The only control you gain at one of those camps is theirs over you. If you want to see real control, Counselor, I would be happy to show you.” A sharp-toothed smile from Germaine mirrors the terrified grimace on Counselor Elm’s own.
One hand on either side, Germaine seems to grasp at the air and pull. The ground begins to shift and rumble quietly around them, material pulling from the soil and stone beneath their feet. Two rge blocks of earth coalesce into feet, featureless and pin, before continuing upwards into legs as thick as logs. His hands dance in the air as if conducting a symphony none can see, directing the ground itself in his show. He is usually happy to create his art with his own two hands but a night like this demands more finesse and so he continues to sculpt. Legs become a torso, arms crawling from newly made shoulders until finally the head is finished, its eyes hollow pits of bck. The creature stands for a moment, towering fully half again as tall as Germaine, before its eyes burst alight with heatless fme a deep emerald green. He smiles and cocks his head at the man still trapped in stone beneath him, the golem mimicking his movement in perfect sync.
“So, do we have an understanding?”
