Phae 2

HAHA BET YOU THOUGHT YOU'D NEVER SEE THE TIME Also I'm just posting this in spurts and bits whenever I write enough more to be coherentish

When she woke, the sun had risen, so she rolled over again, returning to the throbbing dark. Her sobriety invited dreams, memories of the years of her youth. And so, the burn of iron and ache of violation drove her from sleep back to the world of light. The sun hung high overhead, greasy yellow light pouring down upon the city. Few walked the streets in this district, at these hours �" to do so was almost more suspicious than midnight prowling �" but the shops were still open, black dust occasionally blowing in from the streets. The minerals dredged from the deep baked in the sun and were kicked up in small, sad clouds by the seaward winds. The assassin tied her scarf about her face, leaving only the scarred sockets of her eyes visible. No-one would think it odd, with the choking clouds of sea-dust swirling about the streets. A turn down this alley and up that brought her to the shop she sought. Though she rarely patronized it in person, owing to her unmerited hate �" an instinct she had yet to even try to shake �" of the owner: a slim, pale man, not unlike a hand-rolled cigarette in appearance and smell. He reminded her too much of her past. All folks with elvish blood did �" particularly men. But he was kind, and the prices he charged for his wares �" poisons and elixirs, for the most part �" were fair, and that was rare enough that she had yet to find an alternative in this town. The go-between she usually utilized for her shopping was nowhere to be found, and besides, the prices the damned selkie charged were beyond her means today. Too many jobs had come to unexpected ends as of late, and her coin purse was sadly light. The bell of the door rung against the dust-caked glass, dislodging a flake that drifted to the ground like filthy snow.

“Ah! If it isn’t little ‘Leine!” The thin shopkeep cheered, happy to have a customer to distract him from the tedium of wiping the ubiquitous dust from his vialed wares, and not a little bit surprised to see the reclusive girl. His smile was cleaner than most in this town, only faintly off-white, without a tooth missing.

For a long time, she stood upon the threshold, her eyes narrowed. “I fail to recall ever sharing my name with you, waresman,” she muttered, before stepping to the poison racks. Her eyes scanned over the labels, occasionally flicking to the man to reassure herself of his continued distance and harmlessness.

“Eheh, well, your courier happened to speak it,” he responded, perturbed by her vitriolic response. “How is she, anyhow? Ill? You don’t usually come here yourself…”

“Missing. And I’d rather avoid dealing with �" “she paused, knowing the invectives her nature drove her to speak could go nowhere good, especially not when directed at her primary supplier “people in person. If I at all can.”

The clerk said no more, though his concern for the cheerful youth he was used to selling to was only bolstered by Madeleine’s terse reply.