UNFINISHED: Prince of Madness

~ Chapter 9

Gathering provisions had been the easy task. Agatha had remained outside with Marcel whilst Ruben bought what he had promised, and they relocated to one of Astalis' many dark alleyways to tend to Marcel's back. To his credit, he didn't loose any overly loud screams, but perhaps that was due to his own burial of his head in his slashed, bloody tunic beforehand.
Agatha had bandaged people before - though that had been Marcel as well. Years ago, 'Marceline' managed to cut his calf deep enough to usher forth a torrent of blood, and Agatha had torn up the underskirts of her own dress to stop the bleeding.
That had been the past. And her best friend had always been tough like that. It was probably why Agatha hated the sinking in her stomach whenever he showed any sign of pain.
"You're about to cry too, Agatha." Ruben slipped Marcel into a new shirt produced from the leather satchel obtained to hold the supplies. It was a plain, pale turquoise tunic that almost seemed like the ruined one, but lighter in colour and less ornate. 
Agatha found a handkerchief being offered to her and took it, nodding her head in thanks and examining the border of gold thread embroidered into the white cotton before dabbing a slight corner to her eyes. On passing it back, Marcel remarked, "Don't cry for me, please. You'll only set us all off."
That boyish grin once displayed so often got her laughing. "Fine, fine. Just don't try to treat me as a delicate child from now on," she retorted, swivelling her gaze to the other man as well. "From here on out, I'm one of you."
"You became a boy a long time ago. You still haven't gotten used to it."
"Why-"
"I'm glad you two are laughing, but we have a city to leave," Ruben interrupted quietly. "This one."
"Ah... yes." Marcel and Agatha spoke in unison, but the latter continued, "And you certainly have a plan after that?"
"Of course."
"Where?" asked Marcel.
Ruben brought a finger to his lips and pointed to a crowd of people - merchants of all sorts - gathered around something a distance in front of them.
"The forest crossing is the best exit we can take. But it's a fifteen minute walk, at least. And we should probably avoid that group in case they're being... informed of something."
There were two collective nods, but no spoken response. After exchanging a single look between each other, Agatha and Marcel followed Ruben out of the alleyway and towards their escape from Astalis.

Agatha knew the Tyrodenn area, but not well. It was south-east of her home, and packed mostly with armouries and other warrior supply shops courtesy of the district's famous combat-based college. The place that Ruben had bought from was the smallest of the three stores in the area that actually supplied food.
Ruben had seemed so serious lately - ever since the fire. Due to no fault of his, Agatha thought; he had watched so many beloved friends die. She could not even begin to understand that heartbreak - not when she was so weak that she could barely stand the thought of not being able to spend time with her best friend.
There was something else in regards to the man that she had met in the old hospital that concerned Agatha. It was this new sense of unease, instability - perhaps self-imposed after the 'Strangled Marceline' incident and the events that had occurred before it. The real world was something that had often been locked away from Agatha's untainted innocence, and she knew it, but she had not expected so much...
Inner turmoil seemed to be the only phrase to describe it.
"Let's pick up the pace, but inconspicuously," Ruben whispered from slightly ahead. "We're almost out."
Indeed, the opening in the strip of forest that protectively surrounded the town was in sight. In rows beside it were clusters of small shops for travellers passing in and out to help them on their way. Speaking of which, there were abnormally few people walking the passage at this point.
The other men had reverted to a speed walk, so Agatha did the same trying her best to avoid eye contact with every shop keeper she passed. "Because they might work for Father or Mother, and they might recognise you," she told herself as the new greenery began to emerge in the corners of her vision. She didn't lift her head up until the first swathes of sand were visible and beneath her feet.
Marcel was the first to stop walking, his forehead laced with beads of sweat and back slightly arched. 
"Hey, we're out, Ruben," he said. "You okay?"