MACHINE AND MAGIC

3 RECRUITMENT

"So... are you going to say anything?" Torumud grunted as he cranked at the undercarriage of the old Destrier with a socket wrench. "You've been standing there for two hours, haven't said a word. You could at least ask for a cup of coffee."

Leaning on an old, rusty tool cabinet, Aurin took a drag from his cigarette and rubbed his eyes. The sapphire eyes of the tiger were flashing in his mind, and the sounds of the ice spike tearing into flesh seemed to still be in Aurin's ears... the screams and guns going off, shells hitting the dirt.

Only, he wasn't able to differentiate the events of last night from the hellish battlefields of Khagilos. It was all the same, rolling up into one. It just an amorphous beast sitting on his back, making him tired and paranoid.

He stared outside at the prairie stretching out past the road, watching the grass sway in the wind and the heat rising up from the road. It was an unbearably bright day, the kind where little kids chased after ice cream and young women sun-bathed beside the water. Today, Aurin thought about death.

Sensing movement in the corner of his eye, he saw a little dog peek his head out from around the Destrier, and sniff the bumper. When it laid eyes on Aurin, it cowered and slunk away, tail tucked in its legs.

Torumud slid out on his dolly, and lifted his goggles, giving Aurin an incredulous look from a face encrusted in grime. The old man was short but stocky, covered in bulging muscles and tattoos- he had a shiny bald head and a long salt-and-pepper beard that had grown down past his collarbone. "Wait... did you... did you walk here? All the way from the old Frameyards?"

Aurin said nothing, only took another drag.

"Your legs ought to be killing you. Sit down, kid... Aeos' mercy, sit down, you're gonna give me a fit." Torumud slid back under the car. "And make yourself a cup of coffee, you look like a sack of crap."

"I'm used to it," Aurin murmured. "Besides, gravity's 'lil higher on Khagilos."

"Yeah, well, this ain't Khagilos. This is civilized society. You don't have to hoof it around everywhere." Torumud chuckled and tightened another bolt. "All right, well, almost done anyway..."

"Last night was..." Aurin croaked, holding the smoke in his lungs, and exhaled. "It was a thing."

"You're telling me. Coming in here covered in blood, looking like you'd seen a ghost." Torumud spat, as a bit of hydraulic fluid spilled onto his mouth. "What're you gonna tell Eighto?"

"The truth, I guess."

"Well, that's real noble of you, kid. I hope he's willing to lend you an ear, 'cuz uh..." Torumud chuckled gravely. "The rest of us are screwed."

"I'm sorry."

"Nah, ain't your fault," Torumud said. "That's what the Father got for hiring a junkie. You did what you were hired to do."

Somehow, this didn't ease Aurin's mind... however, he appreciated Torumud's words. The gruff biker was probably the only person that didn't just see Aurin as a loaded gun. Or, maybe he did and showed the appropriate respect for something that could easily blow your head off.

"You sure this'll make the trip?" Aurin asked.

"This ol' thing?" Torumud grunted, strong-arming the bolt in place. "I know of some snails that have better acceleration, and the engines run a 'lil hot, but she's reliable. Trust me. They don't make 'em like this anymore."

"I trust you," Aurin said.

"Welp," Torumud groaned and rolled himself out from under the Destrier. His back cracked as he took Aurin's hand to stand back up. He grabbed a rag from the nearby workbench to wipe his hands off. "Should be good for a test drive, if you wanna give 'er a whirl."