Interview with a Genasi: Part Two

Continued from Part One…

The Fast Boil…

The point of the spear pressed firmly against my throat, ready to pierce my skin with the slightest movement. I knew that anything more than a gentle gulp would mean the difference between breathing from my mouth and nose or breathing from a ragged hole just above my Adam’s apple. My eyes traced the line of the blade to where it met the oak from the fishing pole, and then along several feet to Trench’s hands, which I realized had a slight tremble to them. Had I dared to look up past his arms and to his face, I am sure I would have seen his dark eyes watching me. I did not look, however, because I was transfixed on the whitening of his knuckles as his hands fought to remain in control of his weapon.

“Did he arrange this meeting?” Trench asked. His voice was low. The accent was different from that of moments before. This accent was natural and raw. Hate dripped off of every syllable like droplets of water from a fishing net. Slowly he released the tension he held on the polearm. “Answer me, monsieur, or I will arrange for your body to spend the rest of time at the bottom of a very deep, very cold, very wet, chasm.”

Turning down the Heat…

With the pressure off my throat, I turned my head to the left and right while adjusting my jaw. Taking a chance, I decided to make brief eye contact. “Monsieur Du’ Marianas, I have no idea who you’d be referring to. I arranged this meeting to speak to you about this new campaign you’re involved in for the Misfit Adventurers, and the Commonly Creative Network.”

As I watched the blue-green colour come back to his hands, I breathed a sigh of relief. With a push of a button on the fishing rod the blade retracted and disappeared. “We shall see, little human, we shall see.”

Every fibre of my being was screaming at me to end the interview. My second and third thoughts were yelling at me, directing me to escort the creature out of my living room, lock the door, and call the police. But I didn’t. I adjusted myself on the couch, straightened my tie, and polished my glasses. I wasn’t anywhere close to being calm or composed, but I wasn’t about to let the Water Genasi know this. “Shall we continue?” I asked, doing my best to keep a level voice. I watched Trench consider my suggestion. What is he thinking? I wondered. What kind of emotions are swimming through your brain? I reasoned that being empathetic to his situation would likely help distract me from my own feelings.

A Slow Simmer

With one swift movement, the fishing rod folded on itself several times and was deposited into a small, leather pouch just behind his left shoulder. Cautiously Trench sat down on the couch near me, nervously fidgeting and wringing his hands together. “Will you be writing about my little…outburst?” He asked. The goofy, almost fake French accent was slowly returning.

“I don’t have to,” I replied at the time.

“I see. Well, I consider myself to be fair, clear and transparent, like-”

“-like the ocean?” I asked, cutting him off.

Trench grinned. Or, at least I assume it was a grin. “Precisely. Clear and transparent like the ocean. Please, write what you wish. I can only be who my Deity made me be. Nothing more, nothing less.”

I nodded. The sense of integrity I got from Trench was an anomaly; I write this to mean that people most people will say that they possess integrity, and some people will even seek to prove it to those who would observe. But Trench did neither. Unlike many people I have met, he did not claim to have integrity, nor did he seek to openly display it—Trench was different. He just was integral.

To be Continued in “Interview with a Genasi: Part Three