It started, as it always did, with one blue foot on the ice cold floor. Then, the other, as Locke shifted from laying on his back to sitting straight up in bed. He glanced down at his feet, wiggling each of his toes in order, before he looked to the window. A groan escaped his lips: the sun had clearly been up for some time now, and he still felt like he could use another hour or two of sleep. At least the sleep he'd gotten had been comfortable: even his spartan, minimalist taste in interior design had to give a little when the bed roll he'd purchased had proven inadequate to the task of providing him with a good night's sleep. He had ordered the smallest sized bed he could find that would fit his body (and his alone), then had it teleported over. There was little to it but a steel frame that lifted the mattress and box spring scant inches off the floor, with wheels that mostly went unused. No headboard, no footboard, no bed rails. With one last grunt of complaint, he pushed off the mattress and headed for his dresser. Drawer by drawer, he assembled and donned his workout attire. A skin-tight long-sleeved shirt, sweatpants, and a balaclava, all black. He pushed against the wall, then grabbed each foot and pulled it back into a stretch. Some circles with his arms, and a roll of his neck, and he was just about ready. All that was left was to don the white and black leather martial arts gloves he sometimes wore while dueling, and a pair of charcoal gray running shoes. He grabbed the keys off of the top of his dresser, then broke into a jog that only stopped when he opened and locked his apartment door.
The pace quickened once he was outside the Elemental Arms building, on the tree-lined and brick-laden streets of New Haven. It was a Sunday, so many of the shops were closed, and the roads were mostly empty of people, carriages, and carts. Not that he noticed much. He kept his eyes forward on what was immediately ahead, his breath falling into a familiar rhythm, accented by the light staccato of his footsteps on concrete and brick, gravel and mud. Where am I running to? Locke asked himself, as he came to the stone wall that divided New Haven from Dragon's Gate. He waved to the guards at the tower high above the street connecting the two districts. They returned the gesture with sleepy salutes of their own, and he returned to pondering the question in earnest.
Taken literally, the question was easily answered. I'm probably going to run through the Market, rest there for a spell, then run back to my apartment for lunch. Taken as a philosophical inquiry, though, and it became more difficult. In Locke's mind, the question Where am I running to? was immediately proceeded by What am I running from? What have I run from? Sometimes, it seemed his whole life had been spent fleeing, for good or bad. His first flickering memories involved him saying farewell to his father ? his real father. His face was nothing but an abstract collection of features. How big was his nose? How long was his hair? Did he have dimples when he smiled, too? The details had fled as fast as he and his mother had fled Fridmond, as fast as his mother had met Arnand and married him. As quickly as Locke been forgotten, shuffled off to school, when his brother was born. School, where Locke was sharp, perhaps too sharp, and so boredom kicked in. When he wasn't cutting classes, he was challenging his classmates to various feats of strength, skill, and speed. He got a rush when he'd look behind to see how far back they were, straining with effort that came so easily to the ice elf. The same rush transferred over when he started picking pockets, shoplifting, breaking and entering. There had been plenty of times he'd been noticed, but he and his mates had always gotten away, always ran, looking back to see the panting, sweating, red faces of overweight shopkeepers, out of shape guardsmen, furious nobles and merchants. Somehow, he'd always gotten away, no matter how tight things had seemed. Even when he had to run back home, tail tucked between his legs. To home, then from home, then back home again. It was a pattern, a circle, a loop. When things got bad, he ran away, but somehow he always managed to end up where he was before, in no better shape.
He made good time through Dragon's Gate, crossing into the Marketplace with barely any fatigue. By chance, his chosen path for this run carried him past Expressions of Hope, a fact he hadn't noticed until he was a few houses down the road. His pace slowed, as he debated whether or not he wanted to stop and visit Johnny. You should. You should stop running, even if it's only for a few minutes. Locke pulled up, hands resting on his knees for a second or two as he caught his breath, then he turned around and jogged back to the store. Maybe it was open today? He approached the door and tugged on the handle, testing to see if it was locked or unlocked...
The pace quickened once he was outside the Elemental Arms building, on the tree-lined and brick-laden streets of New Haven. It was a Sunday, so many of the shops were closed, and the roads were mostly empty of people, carriages, and carts. Not that he noticed much. He kept his eyes forward on what was immediately ahead, his breath falling into a familiar rhythm, accented by the light staccato of his footsteps on concrete and brick, gravel and mud. Where am I running to? Locke asked himself, as he came to the stone wall that divided New Haven from Dragon's Gate. He waved to the guards at the tower high above the street connecting the two districts. They returned the gesture with sleepy salutes of their own, and he returned to pondering the question in earnest.
Taken literally, the question was easily answered. I'm probably going to run through the Market, rest there for a spell, then run back to my apartment for lunch. Taken as a philosophical inquiry, though, and it became more difficult. In Locke's mind, the question Where am I running to? was immediately proceeded by What am I running from? What have I run from? Sometimes, it seemed his whole life had been spent fleeing, for good or bad. His first flickering memories involved him saying farewell to his father ? his real father. His face was nothing but an abstract collection of features. How big was his nose? How long was his hair? Did he have dimples when he smiled, too? The details had fled as fast as he and his mother had fled Fridmond, as fast as his mother had met Arnand and married him. As quickly as Locke been forgotten, shuffled off to school, when his brother was born. School, where Locke was sharp, perhaps too sharp, and so boredom kicked in. When he wasn't cutting classes, he was challenging his classmates to various feats of strength, skill, and speed. He got a rush when he'd look behind to see how far back they were, straining with effort that came so easily to the ice elf. The same rush transferred over when he started picking pockets, shoplifting, breaking and entering. There had been plenty of times he'd been noticed, but he and his mates had always gotten away, always ran, looking back to see the panting, sweating, red faces of overweight shopkeepers, out of shape guardsmen, furious nobles and merchants. Somehow, he'd always gotten away, no matter how tight things had seemed. Even when he had to run back home, tail tucked between his legs. To home, then from home, then back home again. It was a pattern, a circle, a loop. When things got bad, he ran away, but somehow he always managed to end up where he was before, in no better shape.
He made good time through Dragon's Gate, crossing into the Marketplace with barely any fatigue. By chance, his chosen path for this run carried him past Expressions of Hope, a fact he hadn't noticed until he was a few houses down the road. His pace slowed, as he debated whether or not he wanted to stop and visit Johnny. You should. You should stop running, even if it's only for a few minutes. Locke pulled up, hands resting on his knees for a second or two as he caught his breath, then he turned around and jogged back to the store. Maybe it was open today? He approached the door and tugged on the handle, testing to see if it was locked or unlocked...