Giotto

The dull tick of the clock counted the seconds of silence as Talbot stared into pink eyes, dumbfounded. Unwarranted, his eyes drifted to the slightly more red hair framing a peeved face. Then, they went to the absolutely absurd tattoo going from his hairline to under his shirt.

What were kids taking these days?

Talbot never thought himself as a prude - too many deaths, too many battles and sweat and blood and tears for that - but this, this pushed the line. What sane kid would ever dye their hair pink? It was either that or a hair job gone wrong, but Talbot was leaning towards the former.

So completely baffled, Talbot could only say, in the most unimpressed tone he had to offer, "Brat, are you right in the head?"

Giotto covered his mouth and looked away, but the way his eyes curved into twin smiles was telling enough.

"Of course I am!" G, Giotto's best friend, snapped. He was dressed informally, his stance advertised the fact that he'd been in more than a few fights, and had a mouth in need of desperate washing, if the slur of profanities he seemed fond of was anything to go by. Talbot didn't let himself think of why they were friends at all, much less how.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes! Do you want me to strangle you, you old geezer?"

Giotto coughed. It came out breathless and a pitch too high.

"I don't need you to tell me anything, brat." Talbot glared at the boy and his ridiculous excuse for red hair. He ignored the tattoo; one problem at a time. "What I need is a bottle of hair dye - preferably black, but brown will do. Hell, blond might even work, too." When G spewed threats, offended at Talbot for being offended by his hair, Talbot wrinkled his nose. "You're mouth's no better."

"Now, you two," Giotto cut in before G could launch himself at Talbot. "I'm glad that you're talking to each other, but that's not why we're here, is it, G?"

Clicking his tongue, G backed down and glared at some point over Talbot's shoulder. He raised a hand littered with multiple rings with his fingers curled inward. Talbot could see, with his trained eyes, an oddball ring that held potential. He frowned and moved closer, examining.

And then the ring lit up with red flames.

He glared at Giotto. "I said I wouldn't help, brat."

"I didn't know who else to ask."

"Then don't mess with them. They're not dangerous so long as you keep them dormant," Talbot reasoned. He pointed his cane at the lit ring. "If you don't do anything, that's nothing but a potential reading, a personality test, a convenient flame when it's dark. If you tap into it without the right supervision and teachings, it'll be a weapon. A dangerous one. So do the world a favor and forget about it, brat, there are more important things to do with your life than messing with flames. You'll only get burned in the end."

"A weapon?" The redhead brat asked, brows drawing together in thought. He stared at the flickering, erratic red flame.

"Yes," Talbot confirmed. He turned away, about to get on with his day, when a hand caught him by the shoulder. His jaw clenched. "What?"

G stared at him, emotions in conflict. He didn't like this old man, not when he showed up out of nowhere. Even Giotto's repeated assurances did nothing to alleviate his concerns. He was still wary - all of them were, really. People from outside were bad, they were demons. Just like the ones who terrorized them now, day in day out.

But Talbot had power. He had knowledge and strength and the means to teach. G could learn to control these flames, make them into a weapon. A weapon that could help him protect this town.

"Teach me."

Talbot scoffed. "No."

Fingers dug deeper into his shoulder. "Teach me."

Glaring at him out of the corner of his eyes, Talbot gritted out, "Get your hand off of me."

"Not until you agree to tea- "

The words died in his throat. Pressed against his neck, the sharp end of Talbot's cane dug into his skin just enough to refrain from drawing blood. He sucked in a fortifying breath, caught off guard. He hadn't even noticed. Glancing over at Giotto, he saw that the blond wasn't going to make a move.

Talbot looked at him, bland and apathetic, like he couldn't care less if he took his life, and G felt the first buds of fear - terror - sprout like weeds. "I'll say it once more," Talbot intoned, looking nothing like the old, bad-tempered man G thought he was. Now, with his eyes dark and expression shadowed, he looked like a fighter. A killer. "Find someone else. I refuse to teach brats like you."

Swiveling around with a flair of his cloak, Talbot left the two without another word. G took an unsteady step back, staring at Talbot as he strode further and further away, and looked at Giotto, about to say something when he sealed his lips shut at the bright, genuine smile on his lips.

"So?" He motioned towards Talbot's tiny shadow of a figure. "Would you like him as a teacher?"

G's lips twisted into a disgruntled scowl. "No, not anymore."

Giotto only laughed.