elidelio (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
elidelio) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
vocab_drabbles2023-06-18 08:39 pm
elidelio) wrote in vocab_drabbles2023-06-18 08:39 pm
Entry tags:
59: Erudite & 61: Odious - Octopath - Among Thieves
Title: Among Thieves
Fandom: Octopath Traveler
Author:elidelio
Rating: G
Word Count: 1,024
Notes: Cross-posted tosweetandshort
Summary: “Would you be willing to teach me about the world of a thief?” Cyrus had asked with a serious look.
Therion sat on the study chair, staring with a blank face as Cyrus rambled on, watching the scholar pace around the room, index finger dancing in the air, drawing invisible lines as he spoke.
Why had he accepted the man’s invite? Honestly, he couldn’t remember. He’d been a little drunk that day at the tavern and had just wanted to step out for some fresh air. Cyrus had noticed and dragged Alfyn along to help him while Olberic stayed behind to guard their table. Once they had made it outside, they stood motionless for a moment, breathing in the cool wind and sobering up a little. It was then that Alfyn suddenly remembered he had some flowers he could turn into a tincture to prevent hangovers, so he slipped back inside to grab his bag, and three became two.
Therion and Cyrus didn’t usually have much to talk about; in Therion’s opinion, Cyrus was mostly an odious scholar, just like the rest of those pompous erudite-types obsessed with scholarly learning, so there wasn’t much an uneducated thief like him could contribute to a conversation with someone like that. Obviously he knew there was much more to Cyrus than that— he was brave when he had to, and his wits lay in more than just empty theory —but the majority of the time, he was just Professor Cyrus, imparting education on all those he considered students, regardless of whether they were actually enrolled in his classes or not.
Therefore, Therion had stood there in silence, staring up at the dark blue sky, waiting for the spinning of his head to stop. When Cyrus had opened his mouth, he’d been ready to ignore him as usual, but he'd asked a question too unexpected for him to ignore.
“Would you be willing to teach me about the world of a thief?” Cyrus had asked with a serious look, “Black markets, underground organisations— I’ve been thinking about them ever since our little adventure, and I must admit that my knowledge is very limited. Moreover, what I could glean from a book would be paltry in comparison to what someone like you could teach me, wouldn’t you say?”
Therion had stared at him for a moment, thinking for a second that he was even drunker than he initially thought, and responded, “Why?”
“Why?” Cyrus repeated thoughtfully, “Because I want to know, of course.”
Therion couldn't argue with that logic, and so, he’d agreed on a time and date to go impart his “knowledge” before they went their separate ways that night.
Which brought them back to the present, with Cyrus animatedly explaining his conjectures while Therion listened, occasionally taking a sip of the sweet tea he’d been served when he arrived.
“So, friend,” Cyrus finally slowed and turned to look at him, “What do you think of my preliminary research? I wanted to give you all the background knowledge I currently possess so that you may build on it or correct as needed.”
Therion stared at him for a moment, then asked flatly, “Are you writing a book?”
“A book?” He blinked, “Well, no, but now that you mention it—”
“Then all that is useless.” Therion didn’t bother to dress his words up, leaving them sharp like the bare edge of a dagger.
“How so?” Instead of being burdened by the weight of knowing all his hard work had been for naught, however, Cyrus perked up and asked with a curious light flickering in his eyes.
Therion clicked his tongue, then began, "You seem to picture all these people as faceless denizens of the underground, no more a visitor to the surface than a rat crawling out of the sewers to scavenge for food, but that's not the case. All of us have names and identities and live right alongside you— the untrained eye couldn't tell a thief from a passer-by unless they were actively robbing you… If you want to truly understand the underground, you have to view people as the individuals they are."
Cyrus listened to his words with a thoughtful look, then reflected, "In our last encounter with that Darius fellow, you made it sound like viewing people as tools was common among leaders of such... organisations. Is that not the case?"
"Oh, it is, but any boss worth their salt knows that, unlike real tools, people can turn on you..." His voice trailed off at the end of the sentence, then he smirked, "Everyone's got a price."
"Everyone?" Cyrus frowned.
"Well, a life of crime doesn't exactly breed loyalty,” He shrugged, “But if you find someone who can't be bought with money, you just have to find another weakness. It’s simply a matter of knowing who you’re dealing with."
“No honour among thieves, huh?”
Therion was silent for a moment, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with the statement, until finally speaking, “Honour has nothing to do with it, really. It’s about survival.”
“Survival?” Cyrus couldn’t quite keep the disbelief from his voice, “You’re telling me gang leaders murdering and making thousands from stolen goods are doing it merely for survival?”
“Yeah,” He nodded, “It’s a dog eat dog world out there, Professor. The larger and scarier you are, the less likely you’ll get eaten.”
“You… life must have been tough.” Cyrus didn’t complete his thought, but he didn’t need to.
“Don’t mourn for me.” Therion smiled, “I might have gotten into thievery out of desperation, but now it’s simply part of me. I’m proud of my skills and of who I am, there’s no point in dwelling on what could’ve been.”
“That’s admirable, truly.” Cyrus spoke earnestly, “Traveling with you has challenged my perception on a lot of things, friend. I’m glad I can learn from someone like you.”
“Don’t get all sappy on me now, Cyrus.” Therion coughed, “Do you want to know about the major channels of distribution for smuggles in Orsterra? Grab a map.”
Cyrus’ eyes widened slightly, and he quickly fetched a large atlas from his bookshelf, plopping it down on the table as the two sat down and soon became embroiled in a logistics discussion that lasted most of the afternoon.
Fandom: Octopath Traveler
Author:
elidelioRating: G
Word Count: 1,024
Notes: Cross-posted to
sweetandshortSummary: “Would you be willing to teach me about the world of a thief?” Cyrus had asked with a serious look.
Therion sat on the study chair, staring with a blank face as Cyrus rambled on, watching the scholar pace around the room, index finger dancing in the air, drawing invisible lines as he spoke.
Why had he accepted the man’s invite? Honestly, he couldn’t remember. He’d been a little drunk that day at the tavern and had just wanted to step out for some fresh air. Cyrus had noticed and dragged Alfyn along to help him while Olberic stayed behind to guard their table. Once they had made it outside, they stood motionless for a moment, breathing in the cool wind and sobering up a little. It was then that Alfyn suddenly remembered he had some flowers he could turn into a tincture to prevent hangovers, so he slipped back inside to grab his bag, and three became two.
Therion and Cyrus didn’t usually have much to talk about; in Therion’s opinion, Cyrus was mostly an odious scholar, just like the rest of those pompous erudite-types obsessed with scholarly learning, so there wasn’t much an uneducated thief like him could contribute to a conversation with someone like that. Obviously he knew there was much more to Cyrus than that— he was brave when he had to, and his wits lay in more than just empty theory —but the majority of the time, he was just Professor Cyrus, imparting education on all those he considered students, regardless of whether they were actually enrolled in his classes or not.
Therefore, Therion had stood there in silence, staring up at the dark blue sky, waiting for the spinning of his head to stop. When Cyrus had opened his mouth, he’d been ready to ignore him as usual, but he'd asked a question too unexpected for him to ignore.
“Would you be willing to teach me about the world of a thief?” Cyrus had asked with a serious look, “Black markets, underground organisations— I’ve been thinking about them ever since our little adventure, and I must admit that my knowledge is very limited. Moreover, what I could glean from a book would be paltry in comparison to what someone like you could teach me, wouldn’t you say?”
Therion had stared at him for a moment, thinking for a second that he was even drunker than he initially thought, and responded, “Why?”
“Why?” Cyrus repeated thoughtfully, “Because I want to know, of course.”
Therion couldn't argue with that logic, and so, he’d agreed on a time and date to go impart his “knowledge” before they went their separate ways that night.
Which brought them back to the present, with Cyrus animatedly explaining his conjectures while Therion listened, occasionally taking a sip of the sweet tea he’d been served when he arrived.
“So, friend,” Cyrus finally slowed and turned to look at him, “What do you think of my preliminary research? I wanted to give you all the background knowledge I currently possess so that you may build on it or correct as needed.”
Therion stared at him for a moment, then asked flatly, “Are you writing a book?”
“A book?” He blinked, “Well, no, but now that you mention it—”
“Then all that is useless.” Therion didn’t bother to dress his words up, leaving them sharp like the bare edge of a dagger.
“How so?” Instead of being burdened by the weight of knowing all his hard work had been for naught, however, Cyrus perked up and asked with a curious light flickering in his eyes.
Therion clicked his tongue, then began, "You seem to picture all these people as faceless denizens of the underground, no more a visitor to the surface than a rat crawling out of the sewers to scavenge for food, but that's not the case. All of us have names and identities and live right alongside you— the untrained eye couldn't tell a thief from a passer-by unless they were actively robbing you… If you want to truly understand the underground, you have to view people as the individuals they are."
Cyrus listened to his words with a thoughtful look, then reflected, "In our last encounter with that Darius fellow, you made it sound like viewing people as tools was common among leaders of such... organisations. Is that not the case?"
"Oh, it is, but any boss worth their salt knows that, unlike real tools, people can turn on you..." His voice trailed off at the end of the sentence, then he smirked, "Everyone's got a price."
"Everyone?" Cyrus frowned.
"Well, a life of crime doesn't exactly breed loyalty,” He shrugged, “But if you find someone who can't be bought with money, you just have to find another weakness. It’s simply a matter of knowing who you’re dealing with."
“No honour among thieves, huh?”
Therion was silent for a moment, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with the statement, until finally speaking, “Honour has nothing to do with it, really. It’s about survival.”
“Survival?” Cyrus couldn’t quite keep the disbelief from his voice, “You’re telling me gang leaders murdering and making thousands from stolen goods are doing it merely for survival?”
“Yeah,” He nodded, “It’s a dog eat dog world out there, Professor. The larger and scarier you are, the less likely you’ll get eaten.”
“You… life must have been tough.” Cyrus didn’t complete his thought, but he didn’t need to.
“Don’t mourn for me.” Therion smiled, “I might have gotten into thievery out of desperation, but now it’s simply part of me. I’m proud of my skills and of who I am, there’s no point in dwelling on what could’ve been.”
“That’s admirable, truly.” Cyrus spoke earnestly, “Traveling with you has challenged my perception on a lot of things, friend. I’m glad I can learn from someone like you.”
“Don’t get all sappy on me now, Cyrus.” Therion coughed, “Do you want to know about the major channels of distribution for smuggles in Orsterra? Grab a map.”
Cyrus’ eyes widened slightly, and he quickly fetched a large atlas from his bookshelf, plopping it down on the table as the two sat down and soon became embroiled in a logistics discussion that lasted most of the afternoon.