The Watcher: Adaptability Of A Bounty Hunter

Chapter 16) Moment Of Rest

  The walk back to the Trashed Whale was uneventful. No thugs made an attempt to mug the seemingly weak man. The only patrolling android he came across on the time-consuming journey didn’t even bother to repeat it’s same generic greeting programmed into its robotic mind as it passed him by. And it goes without saying that there wasn’t a single other person out on the streets this late. With the only expectation being one late night worker forced to operate the buffer zone between the two city districts for dumb saps like himself still waltzing around this late at night. Without the concealed weapon he smuggled into the Eastern district, passing through the scanner field was as stressless as it was pointless. The woman operating the machine didn’t bother asking any questions about the injuries or the shocking amount of dry blood staining his clothing. The darkness may have been hiding the damage from her eyes, or more likely she couldn’t have been bothered to ask. There was no point. Roman didn’t know her and she never knew him. 

  The thrill of battle wore off a few city blocks ago. Leaving behind an aching body that longed for rest. His cut-up fingers, while certainly not pleasant looking or feeling, weren’t the worst of his injuries. That honor belonged to the entirety of his upper body. His torso sustained most of the blows dealt against him and, as a result, an action as simple as breathing shocked him with a sharp, stabbing pain. Quick, and small intakes of oxygen was the best he could do to alleviate the problem for now. But these outer wounds were nothing compared to Roman’s fractured pride. For years he saw himself as the apex predator, the one man none dared to challenge. That is until Shadow’s Requiem tangled him up in their web of organized crime. Since then, he’d lost exactly two battles, and though he did lose the skirmish on top of the rooftops between. It was easily excused, doubtful anyone, no matter how skilled, could get out of a situation where there were, at minimum, ten snipers aimed right between your eyes. An unwinnable scenario for a single man. 

  But what just went down with Travis Talon, that wasn’t an unimaginable situation. The odds, while stacked against him, weren’t impossible. A one on one fight, and Roman was still thrashed around like an insect buzzing around a fly swatter. Were it not for Elizabeth’s drone distracting the mage, he would have lost the strength to keep up and that unusual sword would have skewered him. Some fights you can’t win with your own strength alone. As a member of the magicless thirty percent, he knew this fact better than most. Using tools or the environment against your opponent is a natural wave when it comes to the erratic flow of combat. It’s why Roman built himself a crude armor set, salvaged weapons and technology from scrap yards, mastered various intimidation techniques to unnerve an enemy before the first move was made. He understood the cruel, underhanded techniques he employed well, and yet, the ‘victory’ against the single father felt incredibly hollow. 

  There were a few ways he could justify the win to himself. Refill the empty chamber that once stored his shockingly large sense of pride and self confidence. But what use was an ego built on lies, half truths told to yourself in order to preserve what little worth you placed on the few traits you once assumed were unique to you, and you alone. Nothing if you thought about it for more than a few seconds. Roman wasn’t one to cover up an old gash in the wall, instead he’d ignore it and continue on with his life. Leaving that mark on his time alive unchanged, the constant reminder of failure keeps you on your toes. 

  “Ngh…” Roman slumped against a dirty wall, clenching his side, “ Damn it…” 

  This hole, however, wouldn’t stay where it belonged. It was following him, popping up everywhere it shouldn’t have. Constant reminders were a nice way to keep sharp, but staring down your own inability without a break, that only makes the wound grow bigger. In fact, the more time he left it alone, festered in that knowledge, it only served as a gateway to all sorts of new openings hidden away in between the cracks. Why this loss stuck with him in such a way, he had no idea. Maybe exposing himself like this forced Roman to see the facets of himself he couldn’t have while wearing the mask. And what he saw frightened him.

  The dark sky above brightened up every so slightly. Whatever time it was, it must be nearing the early hours of the morning. Considering that Roman could hardly see a few feet in front of himself without the assistance of streetlamps, it must’ve been close to one in the morning. The lights inside the modest bar were still on, Elizabeth was waiting for him. Being mocked for his poor showing during the fight deterred him, but at this point the pain overwhelmed all other thoughts inside his mind. Being able to get off his feet for a moment was all he really wanted. Sluggishly, he dragged himself across the small distance which separated himself from the wooden door leading into the Trashed Whale. Once the door was opened, Elizabeth’s slim figure greeted him. 

  She tossed a small glass bottle Roman’s way, “Catch Lumpy.” 

  “Funny,” The bottle was miniature sized, with a wide, round container hanging off the slightly raised peak. Even so, the wooden cork keeping everything sealed barely poked out from Roman’s closed fist. He unfurled his fingers and examined the glass closer. It looked more like a beaker used in science experiments than a normal drinking bottle. Plus, the liquid inside was very obviously glowing a toxic green, “What’s this?” 

  “Pour it over ya hands,” Elizabeth said. 

  Roman cringed at the thought, “What’s it gonna do--” 

  “Oh stop being a baby,” Elizabeth snatched the clear container out of Roman’s hand, pulling the cap off with her teeth. All before taking hold of his wrists, and pouring about half of the solution onto his mangled fingers. Roman squinted, trying to pull away, but it was useless, this woman had one firm grip. 

  “Ow--” 

  “Jush led it worr itz maguc,” she spat the cork out her mouth, “Trust me, you’ll be glad I helped out.”

  The unknown liquid quickly sept its way into each and every gash and cut on the man’s digits. Foaming up upon making contact with any exposed flesh, and, of course, it stung like all hell while doing so. Assuming that Elizabeth did, in fact, not pour acid onto his injured hands. Whatever this uncomfortably thin, glowing solution was, it definitely packed that dreaded punch he associated with peroxide. He could appreciate the thought, but considering how much time had passed since the battle, disinfectant seemed a bit pointless. The foam kept on painfully bubbling for a while longer, before strangely puffing away into steam. 

  And once Roman glanced down, there was not a single imperfection left on his dominant hand, “How…” 

  “Healing potion,” Elizabeth quickly replied with the same smug attitude she always had whenever showing off, “Now don’t be a wimp and pour the stuff over ya other hand.”

  Roman nodded, “Yeah… thank you.” 

  “Thatta boy, now take a seat at the bar and I’ll be right back with ya.” Elizabeth said with a smile before running upstairs. 

  Impressed with his newly healed hand, Roman flexed his fingers. Stretching them out as far as they could go, before curling and bringing them back in a slight repetition. Not a single mark remained, he chuckled, one minute he’d be talking about how he did not consider magic a necessary tool, and the next marveling at the wonders it could conjure up. If he couldn’t laugh at his own contradictions, then who else would? Roman swapped the potion into his right hand, hesitantly splashing the green water around inside its capsule. Hesitation wasn’t going to get him anywhere, the man took a deep breath, and then messily dumped the remainder onto his left hand. Gritting his teeth as that damned stinging sensation numbed him. There was a reason he avoided using disinfectant on the scraps he’d get from playing around in the yard. Once the white foam poofed out of reality, Roman pulled himself up onto a stool, rattling off a sigh of relief now that his feet could rest for a while.  

  The sound of rapidly descending footsteps caught Roman’s attention. Elizabeth was back, holding another potion between her arms. This time, the medicinal liquid contained within was dimly shining an ominous marron as it sloshed around inside it’s much larger jug, “Bottoms up, Watcher boy.” 

  Roman groaned at the nickname, “You know you don’t have to call me Watcher.” 

  “Course I do silly,” she retorted, “If you have another name ya never told me.” 

“While that may be true. You’ve heard the Dulvians with me shouting it out for all to hear. No point for the pleasantries…”

  “There is always a point to em! Being rude to you is not something I wanna do! I mean we’re like family.” 

  Roman was quick to set the record straight, “We aren’t family, the old man took me in is all.” 

“Fine then smartass, pals, chums, friends, whatever!” Elizabeth rolled her eyes, “Point is, I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”

  “Look Elizabeth--” Roman sighed, “It doesn’t make me uncomfortable. Just go ahead, use my name.” 

  “Well… Alright then, Roman…” For as much as she’d like to pretend she was okay with the new name. Her eyes betrayed her, they were as expressive as they were beautiful. And at this moment, her gaze told Roman all he needed to know. She was worried about him...and curious. About what he couldn’t really say, but he knew for a fact he did not want to indulge her. 

  “Thank you,” he said. 

  “Sure, sure, don’t mention it…” Elizabeth nervously rubbed her other arm, “Ah hell, I can’t take it! Come on, I just gotta know, why did you want us to call you Watcher when we were kids? I mean it’s not exactly a normal name.” 

  This was exactly what Roman was afraid of. “Now you're making me uncomfortable.” 

  “Ya know, they say talking about these deep-seeded issues might help you heal-” 

  “Not me. I don’t want to talk about it,” Roman grumbled. “Look, I’m in a lot of pain right now, could we just move on…” 

  “Okay! I gotcha, I won’t pry no more,” she nodded and popped the cap off the potion, “Back to business then, you need to drink this whole bottle.” 

  “The whole bottle? Doesn’t that seem like a bit much…” 

  “After the beating that pretty boy gave you?” Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, “You’ll be needing some of this. Besides, it’s meant to heal internal damage, so it'll take a while longer to fully heal your body.” 

  Roman was afraid of that. If taken in his current state, he wasn’t exactly fit for his role as a diplomat between two titans in organized crime. Honestly, the Nishi Twins would probably be insulted that Shadow’s Requiem sent such a pitiful man to settle tensions surrounding this whole ordeal. Hell, who knew how Mari and Cliff were gonna react to this? Some hurtful words and insults would be the preferred choice there. 

  “How long will it take exactly?” 

  Elizabeth waved her arms, “Don’t worry. If you down this bottle tonight, you’ll be healed up and ready to go by the time you set foot in Acropolis.” 

  Finally, some good news. He nodded and reached for the bottle. Like the old man and his whiskey, Roman took the bottle to his lips and drank from the bottomless jar. Already he felt better, whatever healing properties were cooped up inside this elixir, they were certainly doing their job. As the smooth remedy traveled down his throat, Roman could feel all his tired muscles loosen up for the first time in who knows how long. It felt nice to let all the tension drip out of his body for once, even if it was only temporary. Honestly, he felt a bit too relaxed for his own good. But when he opened his mouth to ask, Elizabeth eased his fears. This potion was completely alcohol free. 

  Elizabeth smiled again, perhaps happy to see her old friend take a moment for himself, “That is once you pay me what Travis owed.” 

  Roman gulped down his third swig, wiped his lips, then spoke, “Oh right, sorry… How much did he owe again?” 

  Elizabeth frowned, “A specialized swordsman catalyst hand built by the Toymaker? Trust me honey, it’s probably better for your handsome face if you didn’t know. I’ll just take the money from your account.” 

  “That's fine with me,” Roman replied, but truthfully, the thought of Elizabeth having complete access to his own bank account was a bit worrisome. Then again, he was solely responsible for putting himself in this situation. Probably better to let the Toymaker act as she pleases. 

  Roman chugged another abnormally large portion of the drink. Helped to numb the memory. Travis and Aaron, a son desperately calling out for a father unable to answer the call. Not an exact replication, but the scene bore enough resemblance to that awful night so many years ago. Thanks to his own moral code, drowning in liquor was off the table, maybe downing this healing potion could serve the same purpose. 

  “Alrighty… aaand, done!” Elizabeth set her smartphone down onto the counter. Roman felt uneasy about the current state of his virtual wallet. The woman on the other side of the counter, however, couldn't have been happier. With a smile brighter than the sun, she ducked behind her counter, and came back holding a beefy glass bottle, half wrapped in some sort of white packing paper. Roman assumed it was wine, nothing better than a nice sour beverage to celebrate a paycheck. For some unknown reason though, Roman wasn’t in a particularly celebratory mood. 

  She unscrewed the top, but forgot to grab a glass beforehand. Elizabeth chuckled at her small blunder, “Damn near poured out a shot of whiskey on the table.” 

  “W…Whiskey huh?” Roman turned away, not because he felt second-hand embarrassment. He simply wasn’t able to stop the smirk from rising to the surface, “Gift from the old man?” 

  “Ha! Bottle this pricey? Nah, Dad would’ve popped a gasket…” 

  Roman scoured his ancient memories, and sure enough there were more than a handful of times Elizabeth’s father, the old man, acted like quite the penny-pinching miser. He nodded in agreement, “That does sound more like the man I remember. But didn’t he hide an expensive whisky bottle in his office?” 

  “He bought that from a general store right here in the eastern district,” she twisted around, taking a wine glass from one of the drawers attached to the base of the sturdy shelves, lined with too many varieties of booze to count, “Man wanted the feeling of wealth without actually forking over the cash.” 

For obvious reasons, Roman averted his eyes… as best he could… he was human at the end of the day. And just like any human being, Roman was prone to making awful decisions based on the hormones traveling through his bloodstream. One look, that was all he needed. Slowly he turned…

  “ Whatcha looking at?~” And Elizabeth was peering into his very soul with a mischievous grin. 

  Roman stammered, “T-The display.” 

  “Oh really?” 

  “Mm hmm..” 

  She bent over the bar, chin perched atop her interwoven fingers, “What color is the shelf then fella?” 

  “...”

  “That’s what I thought. You know I always saw you more of an--” 

  “You’re dumb,” Roman interrupted. 

  Clearly offended, Elizabeth realigned herself, hand on hip, “Oh yeah? How so?” 

  “Literally all wood is some variation of brown.” 

  She scoffed, “Uh, wrong. Ya ever heard of the yellow-wood tree? I rest my case.” 

  Not one to lose a fight, Roman pressed his case, “Have you ever seen a bar with yellow shelves?” 

  Elizabeth slammed her hands down in front of Roman, rattling the miscellaneous bottles and cups left on the countertop. Damn near made the guy leap out of his seat as well. Her squinted eyes made it difficult for him to guess how she was feeling. Luckily, he had a tell, something miniscule on the grand scale of things, yet somehow he managed to hold onto it since childhood. As kids, anytime she accidentally nicked herself with a sharpened metal scrap, or sank her teeth into some unknown crunchy substance while eating a soft peanut butter and jelly sandwich, she would also flare up brighter than the ripest of tomatoes. Anger, embarrassment, sadness, whatever the emotion, if she was upset she’d turn beet red. From an adolescent to an angsty teenager, this strange quirk remained true. And as he looked on at the orange-haired beauty she’d become, Roman felt certain that she was still the same girl who treated him like family from the moment he was brought into the oldman’s home. 

  “Listen here you smartass,” her face scrunched up, until paradoxically switching to a friendly smirk in a near instant, “Touche, I’ll let ya have this win.” 

  The strong scent wafting up from the golden liquid swirling around in the shot burned the inside of Roman’s nose. Elizbeth noticed him flinching at the stench, and must have found it amusing, since the playful woman regarded his sensitive sense of smell with a second swirl around the interior. The alcohol ran up and around the glass walls, flooding more and more of the annoyingly potent odor right into Roman’s face. Overwhelmed, he scooted over to the next stool, putting some distance between himself and the one shoving her drink in his face. 

  She giggled, “What’s wrong? Can’t you handle a little drink?” 

  “You know I don’t drink.” 

  “So let's see what we got here. You don’t drink, but you still ogle women at bars?” 

  Roman sighed defeated, “Yeah I guess so…” 

  “You’re one part virgin,” Elizabeth brought the glass to her lips, sipping some of the pricy beverage, “Ah~ And one part creepy uncle.” 

  Roman opened his mouth to protest but Elizabeth shushed him by pressing a finger against his lips, “You wear nothing but a black hoodie and call ya self the Watcher. If that doesn’t scream loser, I don’t know what does.” 

  Damn, she really hit the head on the nail with that one. 

  Against his will, the corners of his mouth flexed into a broad smile. And once he started smiling, there was nothing he could do to stop the laughter from escaping his lips. Mission accomplished for the young woman behind the counter, she pulled back, leaving Roman with a tap on the nose and an infectious expression that brought some much needed light onto this awful night. He was long overdue for some rest and relaxation. The bad business with the Talons was just the last push that sent him tumbling down a cliff. Roman, or more presently the Watcher, always worked with something of a moral code. One riddled with inconsistencies and contradictions, but it was enough to satisfy himself. But this job was like dunking his codes into water, watching them dissolve into nothing. If his mask could be shattered, his body destroyed, why couldn’t his moral code be revealed to be nothing more than excuses he fed himself. The last few days have been akin to a lengthy and painful intervention. And Roman never liked holding the mirror up to himself, never cared for the man looking back at him. Spending time with Elizabeth, though, that let the hollow man forget. Even if it was nothing more than a fleeting moment of reprieve, Roman cherished his time with her. 

  “...Thank you,” Roman muttered, “For staying with me.” 

  Elizabeth put her glass down then ran her fingers through her short hair, “Geez, that’s it? Come on now, ya should know that I’m a kind soul… most of the time.” 

  “Yeah… I… really missed that…and you.” The second those words left his mouth, Roman wanted to take them right back. He was never any good at expressing how he felt, let alone confessing something this personal and very embarrassing. His cheeks were on fire, or at least they felt like they were. He snapped his head around, looking away from Elizabeth faster than he’d ever moved before. 

  He heard Elizabeth slam the rest of her drink, before shakily stammering out a response, “G…Good god… y-you couldn’t be more awkward if you tried-” 

  Without looking back, he took in a large gulp of oxygen, and pushed it out in one loud exhale. That little comment stung much more than it really should have. Once more, the acclaimed bounty hunter was brought to his knees by something that didn’t involve combat…

  “...Well, if you really felt that way… how come you left..?” 

  The question hung in the air. Waiting for an answer that wouldn’t come. Try as hard as he might, Roman couldn’t put the reasoning into words. At least not in a way that would make any tangible sense. “Thats…” 

  With a loud bang, the front door swung open...