The Enemy of My Enemy
Raoul Wheaton fidgeted in the dark pew of the chapel. It had been hard to concentrate on his prayers for the past few weeks. Come to think of it, concentrating on anything had been difficult.
Sometimes it felt like the world on settled so it could turn upside down again.
On the seat next to him there was a letter from his father. Though right now it felt like the letter was the source of his distraction and discomfort, Raoul knew the unfortunate piece of paper was just the bearer of news, bad and good.
He straightened his suit jacket and adjusted his tie before he stood up. Only a few people were in the chapel today so it wasn't particularly crowded, but he still felt the compulsion to look his best. Maybe it was worth it, because a bulky man a few rows back raised his head and took a long, hard look.
Raoul met his eyes, trying to mask his distaste for the man's appearance. Sure, the man's clothes were decent enough, but he had ruddy skin and a mop of red hair on his head. With a wide jaw and thin eyes, the man looked wholly unpleasant.
Of course, Raoul could mind his manners when he wanted to so he kept a straight face instead of cringing. That solid expression was harder to keep when his mind when he remembered this wasn't the first time he'd seen the man.
He was in a hurry to get to the chapel. The street was unusually crowded for the holidays and it had slowed him down. He hadn't meant to bump into the man or any of the other fifteen or so people that had been difficult to avoid.
A muttered apology. A dark look in reply. Then the crowd pushed them in different directions.
It would seem both of those directions had lead them to the chapel in the end though. The coincidence of it made Raoul feel awkward. The thought that it might not be coincidence at all made him feel doubly awkward.
On another day and in another place, there would have been a fire in his belly pressing him to confront the man, to tell him to back off. Starting trouble was what he did best, even when it wasn't necessary.
Not today though. Not in a church.
Quickly, Raoul snatched up the letter and tucked it into his jacket. He had meant to leave a donation at the altar, but now his greatest concern was going home. There was not even a shred of desire in him to start a scene, or to have someone else do so.
He made a point of not looking the man's way again as he left. Even so, he could feel the man's eyes burning into him until the double doors shut between them. With the daylight flashing white in his eyes and a feeling of privacy restored to him, Raoul allowed himself to relax.
That relaxation almost turned to inner-peace as he headed down the steps. For just those precious few moments he was blissfully unaware of the two separate men cursing him. Instead of taking the main gate, he doubled back around the chapel to take a shortcut on the other side. It would get him back faster, even if it meant walking through the muddy leaves of the chapel's only tree.
Light help him, he'd get mud on his shoes.
Purple eyes stared from the branches, set against the tawny fur of a worgen Raoul was quite familiar with. He called himself Juma now, but to Raoul the worgen would always be Sangrey. He used considerable restraint and discipline to keep himself poised in a crouch, watching, but to Raoul the worgen would always be an uncontrollable monster.
Sangrey was on the wrong side of the law and the Light. He was a heathen that didn't understand how the Light worked and was filling Amavia's head with a bunch of blasphemy about redemption. Even short of that, Sangrey was a criminal. Only reason he wasn't wanted was because he was supposed to be dead.
The only thing the two of them would have ever agreed upon was that there was something troubling about how the stranger from inside the chapel suddenly appeared in Raoul's way.
At first Raoul didn't think anything of the side door opening. His eyes barely even lifted from the ground. They had to double take when they saw it was the man and not a groundskeeper or priest though. For paranoia's sake, he slowed down, but for pride's sake he didn't stop walking.
The man just stood there. Even when the side door lazily shut itself and there was no longer an excuse for him to just be there. It didn't seem to matter to him. As patiently as the stranger watched Raoul, Sangrey watched the stranger.
Raoul wasn't oblivious to what was probably going to happen. He just had a rare streak of optimism and hoped it wouldn't. Much to his displeasure, the man reached out and caught him by the shoulder before he could get by. The pressure of the grip let Raoul know right away this move wasn't just to get his attention.
Now, maybe Raoul had seemed sheepish in trying to avoid this stranger earlier. Maybe his respect for the Church had come off as cowardice or passivity. And if that was the case, well then that was the stranger's mistake.
Immediately he swiveled to rip his shoulder away and to put himself in line for an uppercut. With massive hands that could probably cover Raoul's entire face, the stranger deflected it easily and delivered a powerful hook to Raoul's gut.
It left the stranger's face exposed though and Raoul thought he saw an opportunity in that. With his stomach burning from the stranger's blow, Raoul lunged and threw all of his power into a counterpunch.
Unfortunately, the hook had not only been painful, but it was just the first part of a check hook, a trap that Raoul fell for before he knew what was happening. The stranger pivoted out of the way and left Raoul to lunge into the metal side door instead. He felt some of his knuckles split open and a reverberating pain shot through his arm right before he lost his footing.
Unbalanced by the failed lunged and shocked by the pain of the set up, Raoul tumbled forward against the door completely. He turned around and got his back to it just in time for the stranger to get his arm at Raoul's throat.
Choked and pinned. Boy, this was becoming a habit now, wasn't it?
"I like your spirit kid, but you didn't leave any alms for the church. I'm starting to think you don't know how to be respectful." The man said, his voice deep and gravelly like the kind of monster he seemed to be. Though witty comebacks floated across Raoul's mind, he couldn't squeeze any of the words out with his throat being crushed.
If there was ever a backhanded stroke of luck, it was that the choking hold didn't last long. A bulldozing force of fur and claws tackled the stranger, with an angry face painted in gold and white so that Raoul knew exactly who this new combatant was.
Sangrey.
Getting rescued by the worgen who had beaten him up (on multiple occasions) and was banging his girlfriend didn't exactly inspire a lot of gratitude. Raoul rubbed his own throat and narrowed his eyes in an exceptionally bitter way as he watched Sangrey and stranger tangle on the ground.
He wasn't even surprised.
The stranger was, but all the same he was in greater humor than Raoul. Probably because he was himself a worgen, and one far more skilled and disciplined than the one on top of him. Without even shifting forms, he managed to get an advantage over the this new opponent.
Brute strength was one thing, every man and beast had at least some of it, but when it was one bull against another, the smarter would win. Sangrey was young and inexperienced. In a fool hardy display he'd rushed to save Raoul for the prize of gloating it over the man later. It was fair to say he'd bitten off more than he could chew.
Not that Raoul cared. Fine. Let the dog fight the angry guy he'd bumped into on the street. Sangrey was strong enough to hold his own and the stranger deserved whatever he got.
Fuck them both. All Raoul had wanted to do today was pray and study. And if Amavia was depressed about her lap dog getting into a scrap on Raoul's behalf, that was her own damn problem.
A sudden and inexplicable bitterness towards Amavia, Sangrey, this stranger, and even his father (who had nothing to do with this) overtook him before it settled into a general misanthropy. He would have been more than happy to go home and forget about all of them.
If not for one strange sound behind him when he turned to leave. The sound was so unnatural that it stopped him dead in his tracks. Then he heard it again, between the grunting and the scuffle.
A whine.
A pained whine.
"There's no fucking way." Raoul slowly panned back to the fight. The stranger was on top now, repeatedly jabbing the worgen in a flurry of blows. There was precision in the strikes, but Raoul couldn't see exactly where they were landing. No doubt he would have scrambled for a pen to take notes.
Raoul loved a good brawl, but his greatest asset was his magic, which had failed in him in three fights now with Sangrey. And so wounded was Raoul's pride on the matter that to see Sangrey taking a beating almost absolved the stranger for attacking Raoul in the first place.
It felt good to know Sangrey was probably hurting and wondering why Raoul wasn't coming to his rescue. That was one favor that would never be returned. Raoul even managed to laugh uncertainly at the scene.
His laughter died when the stranger was done. Sangrey wasn't quite beaten to a pulp but he was no longer in fighting shape. Seeing Sangrey struggle to get up dampened Raoul's enjoyment. Unwanted empathy. And the look in the worgen's purple eyes as he met Raoul's... that disappointment...
You have no right to be disappointed in me.
The stranger wiped his hands on his coat and glanced Raoul's way. Raoul met the gaze with courage. It was a relief from looking at Sangrey's bloody mess of a face, honestly.
"You laugh at your friends getting their asses kicked often, kid?" The man asked, his voice full of accusation or amusement- Raoul couldn't tell.
"He's not my friend. I hate him." Raoul spat back. He wasn't about to explain the how's or why's to Sangrey helping him out when they hated each other. And he definitely wasn't going to explain why he didn't offer Sangrey the same help in kind.
Chuckling, the stranger made it clear he was amused rather than judgmental, "Well then it sounds like I did you a favor."
"I guess it does. You still punched me in the stomach though."
"I suppose that makes us even then."
Raoul paused, watching Sangrey back up cautiously before hobbling away in uncharacteristic silence. He was going to tattle to Amavia no doubt. He was going to fuck up the rest of Raoul's week because someone finally put him in his place.
The stranger stepped forward and reached out a heavy hand for a shake, "Name's Malshelon. We even?"
All of Raoul's ire for the worgen far outweighed his dislike for the stranger. So he took that hand and shook it firmly.
"Name's Wheaton. Yeah, we're even."
Dear Journal,
I met a man today. He said he was with the Church and he kicked Sangrey's ass.
We might have gotten off to a rough start, but I think we're going to be good friends.