Weaving - That and A Lot More

Rubic landed hard on his back, skidding slightly across the wet floor of the cell. Its metal door was slammed in his face as he forced himself to his feet, not staying down for more than a second. His body protested, but the act wasn’t over just yet. The young man rushed the bars with such speed that they reverberated as he rammed up against them.

“That all the time you have for me today, you ugly-ass stump?!” Rubic punctuated his fury by spitting in the direction of the casually retreating guard. The guard, whose flesh was textured and colored exactly like tree bark, didn’t look back. He tried to play it off, but Rubic knew he’d gotten under this one’s skin. A small win. Once the disturbingly beautiful tree-like man was out of sight, Rubic allowed his bravado to deflate. It hurt to breathe. The guards, by law, weren’t allowed to maim prisoners. However, Rubic’s bullheadedness could push anyone past their limit, especially if he was explicitly trying to piss them off. It hadn’t taken Rubic long to persuade them to make an exception to their “no violence law”. Good. He needed to keep their attention. He would do whatever was necessary so long as they weren’t watching Ventril.

Not that there was much to spot about the old man. At least in Rubic’s opinion. In any other circumstance, Rubic probably would have thought this to be the stupidest, most pointless, and unfair task for him. But he’d do anything for Ventril. He owed him that and a lot more. Rubic would never say it out loud, of course. And he groaned each time Lora or Ronan asked him to distract the guards. But, he was glad to be able to help, even if that meant taking beating after beating.

Rubic raised the hem of his grey prisoner’s tunic above his midsection, revealing porcelain skin bruised in alarming, colorful shades.

“Fucking hell.” He hissed.

“You okay, kid?” Ronan, stoic as ever, stepped out from a doorway behind him. Their cell wasn’t like most across The Three Corners. Rather than a single room, its floor plan was more like an entire wing of a mansion. A wet, dark, and uncomfortable mansion where the east wall was completely replaced by bars making privacy almost non-existent.

“Oh yeah! Doing just… super awesome!” Rubic let his shirt fall back around him.

“I’ll take the next one.”

“Nah they wouldn’t buy your shitty act. ‘Sides, I think I’m starting to find my True Form!” Rubic paused to wince, trying to roll his shoulder. “Black and blue…”

Ronan nodded solemnly. Rubic expected him to say some retort about “attitude” or “mission” but he didn’t. Ronan opened his mouth to speak again but was interrupted by an approaching individual from deeper within the cell.

“Come quick!” Olsen’s whisper came from the dark doorway where Ronan had entered. Rubic turned to spot her. The young woman’s symmetrical face was somewhere between concern and eagerness. Each time Rubic had caught a glimpse of her since their capture, he was shocked to see how pristine, and elegant she remained despite their squalor. Was she always that beautiful?

The two of them followed Olsen as quickly as circumstances allowed. Swiftly, but not urgently. They had to make sure the guards suspected nothing besides the monotony of prison life. A moment later they arrived at the cusp of one of the few private nooks within their cell. Rubic braced himself for the sight.

Ventril had always seemed immutable to Rubic. More a fixture than a mortal man. To see him bedridden, coated in a sheen of sweat, and shaking weakly was like a knife to the gut every single time. Before Ventril, Rubic never thought he would get much from his sad, little life. Living more out of defiance than anything else. But one day, out of nowhere, this silly, old scholar appeared in their lives with a plan more futile than trying to pull the sun from the sky.

They probably would have dismissed him if not for his contagious passion. The rest of them never truly thought their plan would go anywhere. At least at first they didn’t. Nightly meetings in that sad, little shop became a reason for living. Laughter, food, and friendship. Years and years of trying to complete a seemingly impossible task gave rise to something more true and beautiful than anything Rubic could ever put into words. Purpose. Rubic never had a father, but he had Ventril.

“What’s happening?” Ronan spoke skeptically, trying not to get his hopes up.

“He started talking again. Still just random words.” Lora nervously picked at the skin on her lip as she stood over Venrtil’s bed. His eyes moved like that of a dreamer’s.

A small part of Rubic thought this was a pathetic thing they were doing. Ventril was old. Truthfully, Rubic didn’t know how old, but the man had likely just… lost it when everything fell apart. They stood over a dying, senile man’s bed praying for a miracle. Praying for anything. Long ago, this part of Rubic, the one that viewed the world with skepticism, had ruled him. It made him nihilistic, and unexcitable. Today, that part of him was no stronger than a slight breeze. Years of trust, and trying had atrophied his fear. Each time the guards had struck him over the past week, they unknowingly beat the remaining weakness from his body. He would protect Ventril. Ventril would save them. He had to.

Suddenly the body in the bed froze. Breath caught in each of their chests, assuming the worst. For a long moment, no one spoke.

“Gideon Gain.” The bedridden hero whispered. Voice devoid of weakness.