(Author's Note: The following takes place shortly before the events depicted in Looking Glass Wars, Broken Mirror Dreams.)
Marketplace
The group of guys - teens, mostly, young brawny men of a type found in schools and towns the world over, often referred to as 'golden boys' - is roughhousing their way through the marketplace when one of them - not the biggest of the group, certainly, but with that certain air of superior smugness that indicates he's one of the driving forces of this little operation - spies a lean kid, smaller by far than he or any of his cronies in appearance.
Grinning, he turns to one of his buddies, tapping him on the chest with a backhanded gesture of his hand. "Check me out, Hank."
Stepping away from the group, the dude walks with would-be casualness across the square, deliberately colliding with the smaller guy, making him stumble and collide with the lip of the fountain nearby.
He's just turning back to his buddies, all of whom are raising thumbs and elbowing each other as they laugh, when he hears the kid speak up. "Watch where you're going, ya douche!"
The smug look settling on his face is wiped away instantly, replaced by mingled disbelief and the beginnings of anger as he turns to look at the kid. "What did you just say to me?" The voice is meant to be low, menacing, but near the end it hitches as he sets his sights on the punk once more.
Rather than cowing away, the kid is standing, defiant, looking up at him. It's not the face of a little punk that's realized his mouth may have written a check that the rest of him may not be good for - it looks like this kid might be ready for trouble, and for an instant there's a part of him that thinks it might not be so good an idea.
But then the punk opens his mouth again. "I said watch where you're going, douche," he says, putting heavy emphasis on the last word.
That gets his blood boiling, all right - that and the mingled 'ooOOooh' from his buddies behind him. Without thinking twice he lashes out, his fist connecting with the side of the punk's face as fast as a whiplash, sending him back hard enough to go flailing over the edge of the fountain and into the water with a splash.
That look of smug satisfaction settles on the bigger guy's face again. "Maybe you should watch your mouth, shrimp," he says, before turning away and strutting back to his waiting gang.
As he's slapping hands with his buddies, he doesn't see the younger kid getting to his feet and glaring after him, a glimmer of crimson light showing in the depths of his eyes.
Later - Red Dragon district
It's been a night of raising hell, hitting on girls and pushing the wimps around. Enough, in short, to make him feel like king of his domain.
The last of his friends had finally headed for home. That makes sense, he supposes - it is three in the morning, after all, and even he's bushed after the night of fun and games. It's time for bed.
The first shadow that moves near the edge of his vision goes all but unnoticed. The second, much closer, brushes past behind him, a breath of frigid, foul air washing over him. More annoyed than concerned, he looks around for the source oof the breeze, only to find nothing there.
As he turns to continue on his way, he notices that things seem...dimmer. The streetlamps wink out first, and he feels the first stirrings of fear. Like any supposed alpha male, he reacts with bluster. "Whoever's out there, f*ck off. I ain't in the mood, so get lost unless you wanna be wearin' your a$$ for a hat."
As if in response, the gloom deepens. Looking up, he notices that the stars have somehow vanished...and the moons...and looking back down to street level, he notices the first set of eyes peeking out of the shadows.
Narrowed, deadly red triangles of eyes. As he's focusing on them, another appears...and then another.
And others, at least a dozen.
The stirrings of fear are fanned into the beginnings of genuine panic as he realizes that not only is he totally surrounded, but they're moving closer...and as the shadowy forms converge on him, he screams.
Perhaps ten feet away, a lean, dark figure watches the roiling mass of shadows and darkness, a dim red gleam in his eyes as he looks on with smug satisfaction. Stepping forward, he makes a beckoning gesture with his fingers. Immediately his pet wraiths swoop away from the figure now lying curled in a fetal pose on the stones of the street. As he leans over the bigger man, Jacen notes the paleness of his skin, the wide, unseeing gaze, every muscle that trembles like leaves in a stiff breeze.
"I told you to watch where you're going. Douche."
Marketplace
The group of guys - teens, mostly, young brawny men of a type found in schools and towns the world over, often referred to as 'golden boys' - is roughhousing their way through the marketplace when one of them - not the biggest of the group, certainly, but with that certain air of superior smugness that indicates he's one of the driving forces of this little operation - spies a lean kid, smaller by far than he or any of his cronies in appearance.
Grinning, he turns to one of his buddies, tapping him on the chest with a backhanded gesture of his hand. "Check me out, Hank."
Stepping away from the group, the dude walks with would-be casualness across the square, deliberately colliding with the smaller guy, making him stumble and collide with the lip of the fountain nearby.
He's just turning back to his buddies, all of whom are raising thumbs and elbowing each other as they laugh, when he hears the kid speak up. "Watch where you're going, ya douche!"
The smug look settling on his face is wiped away instantly, replaced by mingled disbelief and the beginnings of anger as he turns to look at the kid. "What did you just say to me?" The voice is meant to be low, menacing, but near the end it hitches as he sets his sights on the punk once more.
Rather than cowing away, the kid is standing, defiant, looking up at him. It's not the face of a little punk that's realized his mouth may have written a check that the rest of him may not be good for - it looks like this kid might be ready for trouble, and for an instant there's a part of him that thinks it might not be so good an idea.
But then the punk opens his mouth again. "I said watch where you're going, douche," he says, putting heavy emphasis on the last word.
That gets his blood boiling, all right - that and the mingled 'ooOOooh' from his buddies behind him. Without thinking twice he lashes out, his fist connecting with the side of the punk's face as fast as a whiplash, sending him back hard enough to go flailing over the edge of the fountain and into the water with a splash.
That look of smug satisfaction settles on the bigger guy's face again. "Maybe you should watch your mouth, shrimp," he says, before turning away and strutting back to his waiting gang.
As he's slapping hands with his buddies, he doesn't see the younger kid getting to his feet and glaring after him, a glimmer of crimson light showing in the depths of his eyes.
Later - Red Dragon district
It's been a night of raising hell, hitting on girls and pushing the wimps around. Enough, in short, to make him feel like king of his domain.
The last of his friends had finally headed for home. That makes sense, he supposes - it is three in the morning, after all, and even he's bushed after the night of fun and games. It's time for bed.
The first shadow that moves near the edge of his vision goes all but unnoticed. The second, much closer, brushes past behind him, a breath of frigid, foul air washing over him. More annoyed than concerned, he looks around for the source oof the breeze, only to find nothing there.
As he turns to continue on his way, he notices that things seem...dimmer. The streetlamps wink out first, and he feels the first stirrings of fear. Like any supposed alpha male, he reacts with bluster. "Whoever's out there, f*ck off. I ain't in the mood, so get lost unless you wanna be wearin' your a$$ for a hat."
As if in response, the gloom deepens. Looking up, he notices that the stars have somehow vanished...and the moons...and looking back down to street level, he notices the first set of eyes peeking out of the shadows.
Narrowed, deadly red triangles of eyes. As he's focusing on them, another appears...and then another.
And others, at least a dozen.
The stirrings of fear are fanned into the beginnings of genuine panic as he realizes that not only is he totally surrounded, but they're moving closer...and as the shadowy forms converge on him, he screams.
Perhaps ten feet away, a lean, dark figure watches the roiling mass of shadows and darkness, a dim red gleam in his eyes as he looks on with smug satisfaction. Stepping forward, he makes a beckoning gesture with his fingers. Immediately his pet wraiths swoop away from the figure now lying curled in a fetal pose on the stones of the street. As he leans over the bigger man, Jacen notes the paleness of his skin, the wide, unseeing gaze, every muscle that trembles like leaves in a stiff breeze.
"I told you to watch where you're going. Douche."