Oneshots! (Mostly Hermitcraft)

Cut apart (for the sake of science) [Tango]

Febuwhump Day 1: Helpless ft. Blazeborne!Tango

Summary:
Blazes are obscure creatures of legend. Not much is known about them outside of oral tradition and their fortresses are well-guarded and hidden, few and far between. Their cloaks of smoke and raging rods, accompanied by rattling breath, were signs of danger and death to explorers, putting an end to many expeditions.

Their human hybrids are just as rare, yet far less elusive. They feature bright yellow hair, fiery eyes, and a crown of blaze rods floating around their heads. Like other hybrids, they were formed alongside humans when the world began. However, due to the nature of the blaze, little is still known about their habits, behaviours, and physiology.
Hence, this situation.

TWs: blood and injury

"Can I get a glass of ale?"

Tango looks up from the glass he's cleaning, wiping the inside dry with a rag and setting it down gently next to the others. He looks the young man up and down, taking in his youthful appearance with a raised eyebrow, and taps on the sign on the wall.

It is illegal to sell alcohol to persons under the age of 21.

"I'm gonna need to see your ID," he responds, putting both hands on the counter and leaning against it. His blaze rods float lazily around his head as he watches the young man falter.

The man huffs, resting both elbows on the counter and putting his head in his hands. "I'll just get a ginger ale, then."

Tango nods, spinning around and picking up the glass he'd just finished cleaning, and fills it most of the way with ice. He takes out the bottle of Canada Dry from the fridge beneath the counter and pours it around the frozen cubes, then slides the glass across the counter to the customer. The man places a few bills onto the counter and sits back in the bar stool, taking a sip of his drink. He looks dejectedly at the clinking ice cubes, swirling them around quietly.

The blazeborne stops his work, pocketing the cash and handing him back his change. He looks around the rowdy tavern – a group of men clustered around a gambling table, a small crowd of drunks on the opposite end of the counter, and a mob of enthusiastic cock fighters clustered around the space they cleared (cock fighting is illegal, but he can't tell that to a group of aggressive, proud owners of steel-toed roosters) – and refocuses on the youth in front of him.

"What brings you in tonight?" he asks casually, leaning against the counter. "Young people like you don't usually come in without some sort of fake ID or bigging themselves up."

The customer looks away and takes another sip of his drink. "Don't wanna talk about it."

Tango shrugs, his rods circling slightly faster. "Suit yourself. I'll be here if you want anything else." The man grunts and says nothing else. His blaze rods spinning even quicker, Tango turns towards an approaching group of regulars, grabbing glasses and fulfilling their orders with barely a second thought.

Tango doesn't see the young man slip out, distracted by his coworker balancing several trays of food. However, once he realises that he's gone, he can't help but pray to whatever gods are out there that he will make it home safe. This isn't the safe side of town.

It's easily two or two-thirty in the morning when the tavern finally closes. Tango sluggishly waves goodbye to his coworker, then spins on his heel and begins the trek back to his space in one of the tenements, hands stuffed in the pockets of his long leather jacket. He shivers slightly, blaze rods glowing fiercely against the chilliest hours of the morning. Street lamps illuminate his path on the cracked sidewalk, glinting off the puddles left behind by the afternoon's rainstorm.