Of Sinners & Saints

ABEL (EDITED)

"And Hooter would be right," Rhian said promptly. "The boy there is a Seasonal, a powerful one at that if you ask me. He can open portals to other realms. He sent Firbolg back to the Nether, kicking and screaming, quite the sight to see."

"Really," Metisagha responded as he raised a brow, rubbed a hand across his chin, and then gazed at him. Abel could tell this splenetic man valued Rhian immensely, they were good friends obviously. "This skinny gnat has the ability to open up portals. Pfft. . . he is a no one, very few can open portals. Very few indeed."

"I saw it with my own eyes, master. . . I tell no lie." Rhian adamantly said.

"A no one opened a portal and sent Firbolg the destructor back to the Nether. . . I think not my old friend. There must be another explanation. Smoke and mirrors."

"If you knew his name you wouldn't be so dismissive," Rhian the sagacious pointed out.

"Hmm. . . and tell me. What is your name boy?" Metisagha now directed his question to Abel. Up until now he had sat silently loathing the man in his presence.

"I have been told not to use my name," Abel said wisely.

"Tell me your name boy," Metisagha demanded in a serious tone.

Abel looked at Rhian for an answer, but the badger looked clueless. His eyes just widened as he shrugged his shoulders, "I was told not to talk to strangers."

"Listen here boy," Metisagha said pointing his chunky finger at him. "When you're under my roof you'll do as I say. Damn its Rhian! Why did you bring an outsider into this wood, you know it's not allowed! Damn it, if we get discovered it'll be your fault, I tell you, your fault entirely."

"He had no choice," Abel spoke up rather abruptly and just a tad bit aggressively. He had just about had enough of Metisagha and his rude almost domineering manner.

"The boy has balls," Metisagha pointed out, he created a green flame that hovered above his palm. "Shut the fuck up boy."

He was derisory again Abel noted. "The boy. The boy. That is all I ever hear," Abel said. "You know for the best part of a year, I have lived the life of a man."

"And what age are you boy? Hmm?"

"I'm fifteen," Abel replied, puffing out his chest. "If you must know," Abel said this with a slightly spiteful tone it caused Metisagha to growl unto himself and grit his teeth. Rhian watched the bickering pair and had decided to stay out of it.

"A boy is a boy until he reaches sixteen, then and only then he is old enough to be drafted and then considered a man," Metisagha informed Abel of his view. Abel stared at Metisagha, he loathed the austere old man that sat next to him, but Abel kept his cool for once and held his back-chatting tongue. Metisagha took another drink and gurned. "You kids have it easy," he began to ramble. "Let me tell you kid, being old is like having a noose around your neck and that noose only tightens with age. Then the dam chair you stand on quickly loses a leg. Shit hits the fan."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying you should enjoy the last few years of youth, embrace it, for when you get old everything goes wrong."

"Here dear," Martha said as she had walked back in with a warm brew, Abel peered into the steaming hot cup and noticed it was black.

"I feel like a cold beer," Metisagha said. Martha rolled her eyes as she took the tea back into the kitchen to comply with her partners request.

"You're an asshole," a pugnacious Abel mumbled under his breath.

Metisagha feigned deafness. "What was that boy?" He asked Abel, holding his big hand against his bigger ear.