Breath of Old Air (Solo)

[Troubled-Crow]

"What?" Warren said, just on the brink of calm. His thoughts were teetering madly between a rage filled massacre, and a reluctant acceptance of what he had just been given. He really hadn't expected something this big. In fact, if he had expected this, he would have tried to stop it from happening.
"I just think it would be... good to see if it was true. It would be a waste... of information if you didn't." Rumbled the heavy-breathing, clear voice, or rather the thoughts of Med. Sometimes that voice just creeped him out. But he reasoned that Med was probably creeped out by Warren's cool reaction towards death, or more specifically, murder. In fact, Med's thoughts were nothing to Warren's need to kill.
"Where, exactly, did you get this information?" Warren said, again, balancing on the edge between calm and rage. Med had been known to lie. Bieng a demon and all.
"I'm telepathic... Warren. I can hear you... I got it from this guy. Really tall. Wore a.... brown jacket. And a hat. Really, really tall. Taller then... you, I would say." Med replied. He was telling the truth. Warren knew it. So why was he so reluctant to believe it? Warren sighed, rising from the wooden chair, and hearing the floorboards dangerously creak underneath his feet. They had escaped the forces of justice again, after a murder of a certain actor, who had courted many wives, of many angry men. After running for around two hours of cobblestone road and forest dirt tracks, they had arrived at an inn, called the Fire and Hammer, which is where they resided now. The people in Underwood hardly knew Warren, so the community couldn't care less for what Warren did. There were worse people living in little old Underwood.
"What if I don't want to?" Warren asked, but his voice was quivering slightly, no more a cool person, but a rather nervous one.. He knew what Med would say. He still had to brace himself. Without Med, Warren would have tore the room down by now. Med was a good friend, and so Warren was to be in return.
"You should. This a reunion with your... parents, Warren. Don't miss out on a good... oppurtunity. Med reached up to pat Warren hand, and grabbed his little shoulder bag. Warren had bought it for him back in his hometown, whilst he had been abandoning his life of violence from his mother and father. Just thinking about this made Warren not want to go all over again.
"No. It's only your family. You should go." Warren's sensible side said. Steel rested firmly inside him.
"Come on then Med. Time to find my makers." He said, and grabbing his own shoulderbag, stepping over the collapsed door, and storming out of the old ramshackle inn, he didn't know what the hell was to come of him.

[Troubled-Crow]

It was mid afternoon when Warren left The Fire and Hammer, so the streets were bustling with activity. The endless buzz of haggling and talking and walking, the occasional horse going past, sometimes with a noble knight of some sort, sometimes a gleeful child, sent up to cloud nine on the back of a rather embarassed horse. Warren's eyes flickered to each scene of activity, like several pools rippling out and conjoining, to create one great sea of people. Underwood was the greatest community Warren had ever seen. His hometown had been so quiet, so isolated to other people. Like each one had been ecased in a soundproof bubble, never to talk to anyone else, never to interact. That was one reason why Warren had hated it there. Or rather, hated it now. Warren was far too young to ever reflect on how horrible his evironment was, as his mind was more fixed on his thin little fingers grasping at any shiny object Little-Warren's greedy eyes could see. All to please his father. And now his father had returned! Warren hadn't felt this much glee in ages. All the misery his line of work was revolved by, Warren's face was almost set into a gloom-filled frown. This was brilliant, but Warren was still reluctant. He had so many questions, but after being away for so long, would his father feel the same way?

"This is it. This is where... I saw him." Warren almost flinched from Med's echoing tone. Almost. He looked up from where his eyes had been- his feet -and looked around. They had arrived at a large opening, curling around into a large cul-de-sac. All around the large circle, were small buildings and stalls, selling all kinds of things. There were not many people, and yet the owners of the stalls and open shops were still shoting wildly, trying to grab the attention of anyone and everyone. Warren spotted one quite desperatley talking to a chicken, convinced it was some sort of druid, or shapeshifter. He looked over to where Med's grey finger was pointing. He looked up at a rather large building, compared to the rest, with a small sign at the front, which said Morphius' Rest. Warren guessed it was some sort of Inn. On the outside, large log columns rose quite regally againt the walls, covered in rather badly silver painted ivy. It was a poor attempt to make the place look more advertising, but efficent, nontheless. Warren was sceptical. Two inns?
"Are you alright, Med?" Warren asked, genuinely curious about his small accomplice.
"Yes. Why? Is my face more... ugly then it was?" Med replied, getting impatient. It was obvious he wanted to meet Warren's father. After all, he never had.
"No... just... two inns? We could've got a drink from The Hammer if you wanted one." Warren murmered, careful not to gain attention from the nonexistant crowd.
"I... assure you Warren, I am not an... alchoholic." Med thought, rather angrily from the way the words rattled and almost hissed.
"Okay... okay. Come on then."
Crossing the empty place, they headed towards the Inn.