Rounding a corner into a disused alleyway, Shadow attempts to throw Alred into a stone wall, finally venting the anger and confusion he had been feeling. The taller man hits the wall heavily and sinks into a ready half-crouch, his cloak pulled aside, revealing a heavy, curved knife at his belt. He doesn’t reach for the weapon, but he is ready to strike or run as the situation demands.
“What is wrong with you?” – Alred, hissing, eyes narrowed, arms outstretched and hands open in a gesture of peace.
“How do you know that name?” – Shadow, a violent glint in his eyes, all trace of usual good humour gone.
“We did business together in the past.” – Alred, eyes not leaving Shadow’s own, his voice low.
“What business? What past?” – Shadow, pacing from side to side in the narrow alleyway, his gaze locked on the other man. He looks like a predator, trapped in a cage.
“Contract work, years ago. Gods, you really don’t remember do you?” – Alred, still keeping his voice low.
“I’m having trouble remembering things lately. Entire portions of the last decade or so seem stolen away.” – Shadow, in a growl.
“I’m sorry. I am a little preoccupied right now, and I cannot assist you in the way I wish I could. We were friends once, and it grieves me to hear you beset in this way. Perhaps later, when there is more time, I will send you word as to where I can be found, and I will try to help you fill in the gaps as much as I can.” – Alred, his voice betraying a hint of sorrow. His eyes remain locked on Shadow’s, but he straightens from his wary half-crouch, and he lets the cloak fall, concealing his blade once more.
“Before you leave, what type of work was it?” – Shadow, his own body language promising less violence.
“Murder.” – Alred, simply.
“Who was the victim?” – Shadow, quietly.
“Starrik. A merchant, of sorts. There was more to it than that, but it does not befit to speak too ill of the dead.” – Alred, inclining his head in a deferential nod.
Shadow thinks for a moment, but try as he might, the name of Starrick the merchant, this man he presumably killed, strikes no memorable chord in his mind.
“I must be leaving Olivar, I have matters to attend to, but I will be in touch.” – Alred, gently, straightening his collar and turning to leave.
“Don’t call me that, please. It’s Shadow, at least until I find out who Olivar was.” – Shadow, forcefully.
“Shadow then. We will speak again. Stay safe during the Chéserquine. Don’t be caught outside after dark.” – Alred. He gives Shadow a friendly nod, and turns, walking away and swiftly moving out of sight.