Makings of a Monster

Sarevok just can not bring himself to do that. Not even though he is so hungry it feels like a tight wire is strangling his stomach, and burning, and stinging. His instincts were right, he is pleased to note, it WAS a good idea to find a city. He has been here a while now, and finding a place to sleep or food to steal is considerably easier than in the rural area littered with farms and taverns. But the winter has been harsh, and the merchants rarely sell their goods outside. Stealing food from inside a shop is too risky. Usually a street kid like himself is thrown out on sight.

The idea is just so distasteful. But he is getting weaker, and it worries him. He should do something about that. There are large rats in the sewers, Sarevok knows, having sought warmth and safety from there on occasion. They are disgusting things, but at least they are made of flesh. Perhaps if he managed to catch one and roast it... He contemplates which would be worse, eating rats or... begging.

He remembers well that he has vowed to survive no matter what. If it comes to that he will eat the rats and be happy to do so. But begging could get him some decent food... He is by no means the only dirty, hungry child shivering from cold in this city. Begging from strangers can get good results. Sarevok has noticed that people seem to pity children more than adult beggars. The problem is, Sarevok doesn't want to be pitied. By observing he has found out how the success is maximized. You have to make your eyes look really large and pleading, cower a little, exaggerate any pain or injury, look humble and look up at the strangers as if they are something wonderful and unquestionably above yourself. And afterwards, of course, the sickening display of gratitude, when the smug stranger, all pleased with himself, continues the journey back to the warm safety of his home, and pots of food.

Sarevok doesn't have the proper looks and bearing for begging. He tries his best to keep clean, loathes the rags he is forced to wear. He always walks with determined, graceful gait even though most of the time he doesn't know where he's going. He holds his head erect and doesn't shy from anyone's gaze. He walks proud and dignified, meeting everybody's eyes as an equal. He has already noticed that he unnerves many people. He doesn't know what to make of it, but it somehow pleases him. When he sees other street children snivel and cower before those rich bastards, he feels an urge to kick or punch them himself. Still, they do what they have to do to survive. He can't blame them for that.

No. No begging for Sarevok. He isn't even sure he could pull it off if he tried. He is gathering his willpower to organize the rathunt when an opportunity presents itself.

Ordulin. This is a city where wealth is shown off. This is a city of merchants, and wealth is the measure of everything. Rich people parade in their beautiful furs and velvet cloaks, with their dangling jewels. Of course they aren't stupid enough to do so without heavily armed bodyguards. This particular rich boy, however, is lagging a little behind his parents and guards. They don't seem to notice, and the boy doesn't either. He is too enthusiastic with the little bag he is carrying. A divine smell escapes from it. It is a paper bag with warm ginger breads and rolls. They have bought it from a bakery. The boy is slightly bigger than Sarevok, but his movements are soft and undetermined. His face is like that of a smaller child, one who never worries or is alert.

Sarevok hesitates. He is ... well, just a BOY. A boy in a way like himself, never done anything to cross Sarevok. His face is so soft and enthusiastic and naive that it feels very cruel to take his food and scare him. Then Sarevok takes a closer look at his clothes. What he would give for a warm, glossy, beautiful fur coat like that. The hat covering the boy's ears is jewelled velvet. The boy has "a home". A place where he has a mother, father and probably some siblings, too. No doubt he has a pet dog who licks his face and keeps him warm and plays with him. The boy never has to fear starvation, freezing to death, getting ill. He has a room full of toys he can play with. He gets a good meal every day and can bathe whenever he wants. And on top of that he has "love" and "parental guidance". Sarevok has heard people talk about those and feels a longing even though he doesn't fully understand what it means. If the boy wakes up scared his mother probably comes and holds him and comforts him and guards his sleep and and and... you bloody smug little bastard!! Sarevok feels suddenly a need to weep and clutch his knees as he used to do when he was smaller. But there is another, alluring emotion, a blind, red-hot rage, resentment, uncontrolled hostility. Sarevok welcomes it, much preferring feeling angry and destructive to feeling hopeless, mourning for something he never even had.

With one swift moment he grabs the other boy from behind, clapping his mouth shut with his another hand. He drags the boy into a dark alley. It is easy. His muscles are so strong and reliable, they do exactly what he wants, with precision and grace. The rich boy doesn't resist. His eyes are large and disbelieving. Sarevok slams him against the wall and speaks in a flat, controlled tone.
- "I'm going to take my hand off now. But if you make any noise, you're really not going to like what I do to you." He locks his amber-golden eyes into the light blue eyes of the other boy and takes his hand off.
The boy just whimpers first, then talks.
- "...whu...whut...what do you want..."
- "I want that bag, and all the money you have with you."
- "...but... but you can't take it, it's mine! My parents are rich and they will get you flogged for this!"
Sarevok lets a grin slowly form on his face. A grin with absolutely no-smiling eyes and exposed fangs.
- "I know well enough that your parents are rich. Only thing is, it's not gonna do you any good now." Casually he grabs the boy's throat in between his thumb and index finger and pushes upwards, just enough to make a point. He makes his voice even lower, talks more quietly but very precisely, hissing deliberately.
- "Have you any idea how easily I could just kill you? I don't even need a weapon to kill a worthless, loose bag like you. Yeah, kill you. All dead. No more parental guidance! No more pet dog or scented baths! Just your throat slit, your blood slower and slower flowing away and your dead, milky eyes staring at the sky like the eyes of a fish..."

The boy is already weeping profusely, barely daring to breath, his eyes bulging. But Sarevok just can't stop.
- "Or I could just crush your throat. One swift movement and no more mister rich boy. How about that? Or strangle you..." He realizes that he is well beyond the point of purpose.
- "Or would you just give the bag and your money to me and run back to your cheese toasts and hot tomato soup and hot chocolate?"
Sarevok lets the boy collapse. He shoves the bag at Sarevok, the fumbles his pockets with shaky hands and after giving the loot away, runs frantically away. Hm. Good enough to buy food for a while. Sarevok also makes a swift departure, disappearing in the chaotic maze of city alleys.

Once he finds a safe corner covering him from the wind, he devours two of the rolls and one gingerbread. He feels his strength returning, his stomach finally ceasing it's demands. It feels so satisfying to survive, but a part of him feels a little bad. Perhaps I went a little too far with they boy? He would have given the bag a lot sooner... and HE won't have to eat rats if I take his rolls. No matter. I have nothing but my strong, reliable body and my mind, but they are not that useless. I can make people scared of me. That should take me somewhere.