Some people had a habit of getting in trouble because they had poor luck. Kieran found himself in trouble frequently because he couldn’t help but get involved. He was wandering around the shops in town, minding his own business, when he sensed something…off. Being a spirit mage, Kieran had a variety of abilities that could make living a normal life entirely impossible. He could sense other mages, but was also prone to visions. Standing in a tailor’s shop, his fingers brushed against a piece of fabric, and his mind found itself across the street, just outside of a tavern. He sensed panic, anger, and fear. Someone was going to leave the tavern angry, weapon in hand, and he was chasing someone else. Kieran couldn’t make out much more than that, and he only had a few moments to decide what he was going to do with that information. As he found himself again in the tailor’s shop, Kieran swiftly turned on his heel and exited the building. So much for getting a new pair of trousers that day. He was halfway across the street when the door to the tavern flew open, a boy running out holding a coin purse. 

Connecting the dots, Kieran figured out what his vision had been unable to conclude for him. The boy had stolen the man’s money, and the man would come after it. Looking at the boy now, though, Kieran could see him lying on the ground, dead. He reacted quickly, reaching out his foot and tripping the boy. He fell to the ground, and Kieran lifted the coin purse. “I’m sorry, lad. I am sure you might think you need this. But it isn’t worth your lif-“ He didn’t get the chance to finish his sentence, because he felt a sharp pain in his side. Turning his head, Kieran saw the angry man, just as hot-headed as in the vision. He looked down at the blade in the man’s hand, surprised for a moment that it was red. In the vision it had been clean. He hadn’t killed the boy yet. 

[i]It doesn’t make sense.[/i] He thought briefly. [i]I stopped him from killing the boy. Why is it red?[/i] The angry man grabbed the coin purse from Kieran’s hand, and the new scene played out in his mind as his eyes closed and he slumped to the ground. The boy stole from the man. Kieran interfered, tripping the boy and retrieving the purse. The man stabbed Kieran, seeing only his coin purse and rage. The boy got up and ran, and when the man realized his mistake, he turned the other way and ran as well. The street wasn’t overly busy, and those who did see the exchange looked the other way. No one wanted to be involved in this. Kieran took long, slow breaths. He had to stay awake. If he passed out, he would die. It might not have come to him in a vision, but he knew it to be true all the same. Though it took him a few minutes, Kamron made his way to his feet and began to walk back to his home. 

He thought at first that he could fix it, wrap a bandage around the wound and give it time to heal, but it had gone too deep. He cursed as he got blood all over his washing room, looking for bandages. Finally, he made it up the last set of stairs to the attic, and opened the portal. Getting to the other world was the best chance he had. He opened the portal and found himself in another attic. He looked out the window, seeing a grey sky and heard the sound of rain pattering against the glass. It was always strange when the weather was different. He held one hand firmly against the wound, grateful that at least he had a rag for now to keep most of his blood in his body. He made it down the first set of stairs, and almost forgot to change into more appropriate clothing before he continued. He put the rag against his wound and took some sports tape to hold it in place, and then began to shed his clothing. He threw on a simple black shirt and a grey jacket, as well as some grey slacks and shoes, and then made his way downstairs to get the keys. 

He probably should have called an ambulance, but Kieran wasn’t the most prepared for this world. He knew how many things worked, but some had eluded him entirely. He drove to the hospital, managing (surprisingly) to avoid getting in a car crash. Fortunately, the waiting room wasn’t entirely full. This was the second time he had been to a hospital in this world. The first time had been seven years before. His uncle had brought him when he fell and broke his arm. His uncle made sure that he was put in the system, and helped coach him between all of the x-rays and other procedures that took place. Kieran went up to the triage desk to check in, stating that he had been in a small car accident (figuring that with the weather, people would get hurt with those giant metal machines of death a bit more often). Since he was well-dressed, and had no visible bruises or pain, the nurse handed him a clipboard and told him to fill out his details. Kieran took the paper to one of the seats, and managed to fill out a few of the pieces of information on the clipboard before his thoughts began to slip away from him. He shakily stood up, and approached the triage desk to tell the woman that he really wasn’t feeling well. For some reason, he remembered them being a lot more helpful when he was younger. In any case, this one was using the phone, and holding up a finger for him to wait. He stood, leaning on the counter for a few moments before his legs buckled beneath him and he collapsed onto the floor.

-.-

The tavern was filled with drunks and assholes—and the patrons were pretty bad as well. Rhys hated this job, but it was better than working next door. The tavern was called Staggering Knight Alehouse, a rubbish name really, but represented its clientele well. The men were all full of themselves, acting like they owned the place, and then often trying to stiff the wenches on the bill. It wasn’t as if it was for a good reason, either. Most of the men went from the Alehouse to the Inn next door, creatively named Inn Good Company, for the beds and whores that it rented out. Perhaps Rhys should have been more grateful that she could acquire a job at this alehouse, rather than at the brothel next door. However, as the men grabbed her ass, and pulled her hair to get her attention, she was beginning to think that she was better off risking the bandits between towns, and trying her luck somewhere else. Perhaps she could work at a nunnery, or somewhere else where the men weren’t quite such…pigs. She had already been working for a long time when yet another man approached her for services. 

Anticipating some sort of come on, or lewd comment, Rhys was actually surprised when all he asked for was wine and bread, and even said please. She hesitated for quite a few moments, searching for some hidden malice, before she realized that she was standing there looking like an idiot, and apologized. “Sorry, sir. Of course.” Rhys took the money without really looking at it, and nodded, her face beet red. She didn’t realize until she was back in the kitchen, getting a good loaf of bread, that the coin wasn’t something her boss was going to accept. She could go back and tell him that his money was no good, but then she thought about the way he had looked, and realized that he probably had no other money. She took the bread on a tray and grabbed a jug of wine, along with a mug, and brought them out to the man. She couldn’t bear saying no to the only person that had actually been polite to her. On the way, one of the other drunkards grabbed at her behind, and Rhys jumped, almost dropping the jug of wine. She caught it, fortunately, though she still earned a raucous round of laughter from the drunk men at the table. Her glare only made them find mocking her more entertaining, though.

Rhys straightened herself, and did her best to ignore them as she went the rest of the way to the new man’s table. She gave him the bread and wine, but before she could ask if there was anything else he needed, another man snapped his fingers, and Rhys turned on her heel, ready to tell him off. Sadly, the man snapping was her boss, and he did not appreciate the look that she gave him at all. He beckoned her with a finger, and she lowered her head meekly as she walked up to the overweight man. “Why is it that I keep getting complaints about you, girl?” Despite the fact that he knew her name, the boss almost always called the bar wenches by pet names, he liked to irritate them, and Rhys was so easily irritated. 

“I don’t know sir. What are the complaints?” Rhys asked, genuinely confused as to what she was doing wrong. She couldn’t think of a single table that she had neglected. Her boss, however, had a multitude. He brought up a table from the previous night, one that had a bunch of guards who wanted her to sit on their laps. She had refused, and so they hadn’t paid her any tip. When they left, she didn’t say good evening to them. Though her boss phrased it a bit differently, saying that she had refused to meet their needs, or speak to them politely and courteously, Rhys knew the truth. “Sir, they wanted me to sit on their laps.” She responded, hoping that for once, he would recognize how degrading it was.

“And why didn’t you?” He questioned, folding his arms. 

Rhys’ eyes narrowed in frustration. “Because, sir. I chose to work at this tavern, rather than the brothel next door. I don’t [i]want[/i] men groping me.” She said.

The man shook his head in annoyance. “Girl, they wouldn’t have hired you over there. You always look like a sour lemon, you have no ass, and your breasts are too small. You couldn’t make a man happy if your life depended on it.” He continued to hurl insults at her, saying that she would be a dead fish, and he had taken a risk in hiring her in the first place. He explained that he had been losing business since he hired her, and there were complaints daily. As he continued to put her down, his voice grew louder, and Rhys began to tremble, clenching her teeth to try to keep her own temper in check. Most of the tavern was busy enough and loud enough for few to notice the woman being berated in the corner, though a few glanced her way when they were searching for someone to get them more food or ale. 

What a much larger portion of the patrons noticed, however, was the flames in the fireplace on the opposite wall beginning to grow. The flames licked the mantle, and the pot of stew hovering above the flames was enveloped by them. Outside, the wind began to howl, causing a few of the shutters to slam shut. Rhys and her boss were oblivious to this, enveloped by their altercation. This was not the first time that her ability was quickly leaving her control, and Rhys’ fists were clenched in an attempt to keep them under control. She was oblivious to how much control she had already lost.