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“So, you’re the G-Man I’ve been hearing so much about?”
The woman spoke casually, but Grian could see the slight tensing of her shoulders, the way she sat, back mostly straight, but slouched enough to not look paranoid or like a thief. She was ready to move, but only if necessary. It was practiced and careful and intentional. This woman knew what she was doing and had experience that laced her posture, however calculated, with comfort. Grian grinned under his hood.
“Is that what Scar calls me? I can’t say I’m surprised, but I at least thought he would have called me by an actual name.”
The woman across from him laughed, a slight smile playing at her lips. Her pale skin shone under the lanterns’ warm light. “We all thought the same thing. We actually tried to convince him to give you one, but he wouldn’t budge. Insisted that calling you the G-Man just felt right.”
On the opposite side of the tavern, at the bar itself, a group of drunk men were in an increasingly loud argument. They were burly and unruly, uncaring of the people around them, who were either too drunk themselves to care, or too small to do anything without risking their own safety. Grian didn’t pay them any mind except for a slight glance. The woman’s blue eyes stayed on him.
“Yeah, well, hopefully a nickname won’t be the only thing we can call you by. I can’t tell you how excited Scar is for this. And the rest of us for that matter. A new member is always exciting.”
She grinned, and Grian noticed a man a few tables away stand up. The argument at the bar had only grown worse, yet the man walked over to the group with confidence his stature didn’t support. His brown, dusty cloak seemed to float behind him as he walked, and framed his broad shoulders. He hunched in on himself as he walked, and while he definitely wasn’t short, he was far from tall. His steps were sure and loud, but hurried, despite the short distance between himself and his destination. When he got to the group, he cleared his throat. Whether it was to draw the group’s attention, or give him time to steel his nerves, Grian couldn’t tell. The drunk men all turned to him, and the tallest opened his mouth as if to speak. But before he could say a word, the man pushed the black bandana that covered his head up.
“You are going to stop arguing, and leave this bar.” The man’s voice wasn’t intimidating, but it still sent shivers down Grian’s spine.
The biggest of the men raised his fist, pulling his arm back in order to hit the man who just spoke. Before he could, though, a confusion clouded his face, and he slowly lowered his arm to his side, and turned toward the door, and left. The other arguing men followed him, their faces either blank or confused. The bartender turned to the man, and gave no hint that something was amiss.
Grian turned back to the woman, and saw that she was staring at him. Her long, blonde braid fell over her shoulder as she tilted her head, as if asking him, well?
The man beside the woman, his bandana pulled down to cover his entire forehead, which was an interesting look. He set pints of something alcoholic in front of the woman and Grian, and noticeably lacked one for himself. Grian didn’t move to drink, even as the woman gave her full attention to her own drink.
“That was quite the show you put on there. Hate the noise that much, or are you just trying to impress me?” The man was staring at Grian, uncaring of the woman’s distraction.
“Impress? More like intimidate. And yes, I did hate the noise. I am a firm believer in taking loud matters outside if you have to have them in public.”
“Bars and taverns must not be your scene then, are they?”
“They aren’t. But we aren’t here to talk about me, this is supposed to be about you.” The man was visibly much more uncomfortable than the woman. He was nervous, if his moving hands were anything to go by, and more often than not he was looking over Grian’s shoulder at the door instead of at Grian himself.
The woman set down her now empty drink, and either didn’t notice or didn’t care about the man’s unease.
“Stop being so tense. We’re here to get to know him, not scare him away.” The woman looked at the man as if they had this conversion before, and she was annoyed at having to repeat herself.
Grian leaned forward, and pulled his arms out of his red cloak to rest them on the table.
“Oh, don’t worry about scaring me off. So, let’s get started, I’d like to get to know you two as well.” The chair creaked beneath him, but was in no danger of breaking. He spread his hands wide, palms up, and gave the pair his most charming smile. For once, it felt genuine.
That night, Grian laid on a shitty inn bed, and stared at the ceiling. His cheeks were sore from smiling, and his head was fuzzy with exhaustion. His throat was scratchy from all the talking. Across the hall, the woman, False Symmetry, he now knew, occupied a room herself. The man, Hypno, had left ahead of them, to inform the Hermits of Grian’s acceptance into the guild.
Grian was giddy. He had spent years alone, ever since the disbanding of his past guild, picking up jobs when and where he could. A year ago, he would have given himself no more than a month before he was either killed or arrested, or both. But then he met Scar, and Grian’s world flipped upside down. Scar had been his friend, his confidante, his light in a dark world. Scar had given Grian more than he could ever repay, but had asked for nothing more than to share a drink with him. Then a job, and now a guild. Grian had to be approved first, of course, but Grian had said yes almost before Scar had finished his sentence.
Grian was lonely, but Scar had given him the chance to change that. The thought made Grian smile again, despite the protest in his cheeks.
In the morning, Grian and False would leave for Rivendell. The journey would take over a day and leave them dirty and exhausted, but Grian couldn’t wait.
Grian fell asleep smiling.