Chapter 452 - 453: What’s Wrong?

Chapter 452: Chapter 453: What’s Wrong?

Montrel tosses a few coins down on the bar and grimaces at the drinks that get slid across towards him in exchange.

When he said he’d get Loac some of that shit ale he insists on drinking, this wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind.

But Loac had just gone ahead and ordered two of the damn things, so here they are; about to have a conversation he’d never in a thousand years imagined he’d be trying to have with the guy and he doesn’t even get to have a drink he likes to wash it down with.

​Ah well.

Ale is ale, he supposes. And even if it tastes terrible it doesn’t really matter because he didn’t really come out here for a drink, did he?

​It’s difficult to tell whether it’s a good thing or a bad thing that on some level Loac seems to know that. He’s just glad he knew a place just outside the castle walls that had fit the bill because the walk here was long enough and awkward enough as it was.

Here’s hoping it doesn’t get any worse. Montrel’s always been pretty shit at these sorts of things, but there’s only one way to get better at them, he supposes.

​"... So... " Montrel coughs uncomfortably as Loac drops into the seat next to him at the bar. Okay, so small talk isn’t exactly one of his strengths either, and Loac doesn’t entertain him for even a moment.

​"What do you want?" he demands, straight to the point before Montrel can so much as take a single sip; no bullshit necessary. Fair enough; Montrel can respect that. He’d much rather get straight to it than beat around the bush.

And if he’s gonna be like that, might as well dive right in. Probably not his smartest move, but for all the various ways he’s been described in his life, smart is not typically one of them.

​" Look ," he sighs heavily, making it clear from the get-go that he’s about as pleased to be here as Loac is, but here they are, regardless.

"It’s none of my business but uh..." Oh boy, looking him dead in the eye is way harder than he thought it was gonna be, and there’s something ominous about the slow drum of Loac’s fingers against his mug.

Like he’s just as inclined to upend it over Montrel’s face as he is to drink in. "It uh, kinda seems like you got a bit of...somethin’ goin’ on..."

​The drumming abruptly stops, and when Loac’s eyes narrow at him across his drink, Montrel inexplicably feels the back of his neck begin to sweat.

​Like what ?

​Montrel is not sure he’s meant to answer; can’t remember right now whether when faced with a dangerous animal you’re meant to stare it down or duck your gaze, but despite the overwhelming urge to look anywhere else, just so that he won’t have to feel the full force of Loac’s menacing stare boring right into his soul, he resists.

A tense few seconds pass --Montrel’s pretty sure there’s sweat beading on his forehead now, and his palms, and even though he knows it’ll taste way too sweet and terrible he really, really wants to take a drink. But moving feels like the wrong thing to do right now, so he just sits there, waiting.

​And then just like that Loac looks away and suddenly he can breathe again.

​"...Dunno what you’re talkin’ about," he states dismissively, leaning back in his seat and taking a long swig of his drink.

​"Right," Montrel deadpans, wetting his lips and looking down into his mug, "’Course you don’t."

​Well, Gandy would be thrilled to know that this is going really terribly so far. Getting to that other thing is gonna be excruciating at this rate. But Loac’s here, isn’t he? He didn’t have to hear what he had to say, but here they are. That’s gotta be worth something, right?

​So Montrel sighs again and takes a deep drag of the gross ale to steel himself before sending him a meaningful sidelong look.

The sweetness actually kinda helps.

​"...Then what’s with the attitude?"

There’s no knowing whether it’s the tone or the comment itself that makes Loac’s nose twitch, but he doesn’t waste their time by pretending he hasn’t had an attitude , which is good.

What he does do, is hunch in on himself and set Montrel with a dark, narrowed look, which is less good. Montrel’s nose is intimately familiar with that look.

​He sighs again, takes another deep scull to help keep his tone neutral, and offers what he hopes is a casual shrug. "...I’m gonna guess it’s about Khobi."

​The knee-jerk deflection is immediate. "Why would it be about Khobi."

​There it is. Montrel knows defensive when he hears it, and especially when it comes from Loac, as it turns out. He should’ve figured.

You don’t babysit a brat for as long as he had without getting an ear for certain things.

​"Isn’t it?"

​These days it’s almost always about Khobi, but it’s usually better not to say that when he gets like this. Not while he’s within arm’s reach, at least.

​"What does it matter to you?" Another deflection, which means that Montrel’s right on the money. It’s also darker this time; the air between them growing colder, and the tension rising in Loac’s shoulders could not be a clearer warning not to ask.

​Not to push.

​But then, Montrel’s never been super good at heeding those warnings.

​It’s a good question though, and one that he’s been pondering himself, actually; why Loac’s weird and abrupt disquiet had been nagging at him.

But if he had to put the feeling into words...

​"I dunno, really," he admits, offering him a small shrug as he sends a fleeting glance his way, "I guess...it just kinda sucks seeing you all hung up like this." It’s a very weird thing to admit out loud.

Clearly it’s a very weird thing for Loac to hear from him too, because not only does he look a little grossed out, but for a second there he also looks kinda confused.

Momentarily caught off guard, the the ice in his gaze recedes, and in the briefest of moments before the walls snap back into place Montrel gets a fleeting glimpse of the little kid he used to chase all through the castle.