Rise Of The Scoundrel

7. The Garrick

The three of them sat along a well-cushioned bench, each watched over by one of the three Garrick members. Asher smirked. Though he was in an incredible amount of pain from the slamdunk into the ground, he still found a way to feel chuffed about the solid hit he had landed on one of them. He couldn't lie, it felt good to get a little payback for not only scaring the village but taking away two innocent people. Well, three if he included himself, but he wasn't exactly innocent. 

The possibility of him being brought in for dealing Zitrean was very high. It was the only crime he had ever committed. However, Dawn Mitchell's presence made no sense. Asher had known her since he was ten, and not once had he seen her break a rule. Working together with her father at The Hut, she had always done as Mr. Mitchell had instructed without hesitation, and if Dawn made a mistake, she owned up to it immediately. She had never acted her age. Two years younger than Asher but far more mature, and he respected her immensely. Dawn didn't belong here.

He glanced at her wearily. Her injuries were not as extreme as his, but she was in poor shape. Unlike him, she hadn't ever been forced to spar with anyone, meaning she had no experience in combat. She had little stamina and even less pain tolerance. He frowned when she hissed, touching the cuts on her face with her fingertips. Dried blood flaked off her skin, reopening the wounds.

Asher carefully reached out and gripped her wrist, preventing her from irritating it further. He brought it down to her lap and kept it there, giving her hand a small squeeze of reassurance. She smiled at him, teary-eyed but appreciative. They had yet to converse since entering the Garrick outpost, afraid of being reprimanded, but Asher wanted to ask her what she had tried to tell him before. He wanted to know more than anything, but the looks on their captor's faces kept him silent.

To describe their faces would be like detailing a blank sheet of paper. That was how they looked at them. Like they were nothing. Asher supposed in their opinion, that's exactly what they were. Three pathetic villagers were scared out of their minds, waiting like captured mice for the cat to make its appearance. Pathetic.

The third person, a younger boy, sat on the other side of Dawn. Asher hadn't gotten the best look at him before, but he was fairly confident that he was one of the sons of the fishmonger, either Peter or Billy. The boys were twins and Asher had never been able to tell them apart. He had recognized the knee-high waterproof boots. The fishmonger had bragged about being able to afford a pair for each of his sons so they could work more comfortably. Asher remembered being jealous of such wealth, however little it was. His shoes were in poor condition, always damp and stained with blood from his recurring blisters.

Asher gazed around the outpost, having never been inside one before he'd had no idea what to expect. He knew that anything funded by the Capitol was likely to be extravagant if the CK apartments were anything to go off of, but this was a Garrick building. Though funded by the Capitol, there were no glistening chandeliers or red carpets lined with golden thread. No music was playing in the background to amplify a comfortable atmosphere or decorations to entertain the eye. It was stone cold and void of personality. There were a total of four benches within the room, one of which the villagers occupied. The back wall possessed three doors, two of which were cracked but not enough to peer into, and the third tightly shut. The walls were white tile, as was the floor. Asher could practically see his grungy reflection, his hair a complete mess from rushing out of bed and his entire body caked with dirt. Blood had been seeping through his clothing in various places and down from his head, but he had yet to inspect the damage. He didn't want to know.

The Garrick men that had been sent to carry out this job were most definitely Cores. Their brutal strength proved that without a doubt, though they had barely needed to scratch the surface of their abilities to do the job. Another clue was that the man Asher had punched was not bothering to heal the developing bruise on his cheek. Instead, he occasionally poked at it and winced, almost as though he was experiencing lingering pain for the first time and was fascinated by it. However, if Asher, a villager of all things, could land a blow and cause a bruise such as that, this guy was either a relatively new Garrick member or a weaker one. That's probably why he was sent on such a lowly mission to begin with. Sometimes even the weak can split through the cracks and make it to the top, just as Maggie insisted.