[ Camp-Rose, Tavern ]
The air was thick mixed with smoke, sweat and the sweet smell of beer and other alcoholic beverages along with the tang of roasted meat. Tankards clinked and laughter rose in bursts, rough, slurred, full of old stories being shared and bad bets. The floorboards groaned beneath muddy boots, a half-drowned bard by the din strummed in the corner, while a barmaid wove through the crowd with grace, each footsteps in rhythm with the music playing.
The walls were lined with mismatched shields and broken swords, trophies with no known owner.
At the bar, near the counter, was a young man and an old man who seemed to be unable to settle on something.
— Sir your total will be 120 Vekos. 50 Vekos for sleeping the whole night in our tavern.
His hair was like a storm, dark brown, tousled, and uneven, with jagged strands that fell across his face. Two longer pieces hung between his eyes, framing them, while the rest flared outward in soft and chaotic.
His expression was harder to pin down. Not cold, certainly not cruel—just distant. He had a strong face structure, his eyes seemed tired.
The man screamed as he slapped his hands hard against the counter, "so 180 Vekos?! Are ya hearin yourself?"
Angry, he grabbed the boy by the collar, "You filthseeker, you and your damn cured people, ya not getting an ounce!"
The man put his hand inside his pocket and aggressively pulled a few bills and shoved it to the boy's face. "'I'm givin ya 100 Vekos."
The young boy pushed himself free of the man's big hand.
— Sir you'd pay completely ok? This isn't your first—
The man's eyes were sharp, with a flick of his wrist, a small blade appeared. In a low voice he cracked, "Listen here bastard, I told you I'll give you 100. A 100 is a 100."
It was thin, rusty but steady. He didn't raise it high. Just let it glint, tapping it lightly against the wooden counter. The young boy's eyes froze, however the tavern didn't. It never did. But the air shifted.
From behind the bar, a barmaid moved.
She didn't shout. Didn't panic, nor warned. She vaulted the counter in one clean motion, skirt flaring like wings. Her boot struck the edge of the stool. Flipping the old man's shin. He stumbled. Her elbow followed—driving into his wrist with a crack that made him hiss and drop the blade.
It was then that the people inside glanced over here.
It clattered to the floor.
The old man blinked, stunned completely. She leaned against the table.
"bastard. Who are you calling bastard"
The old man got up and looked around as he was met with the gaze of others, some were mocking him, some stayed quiet while others paid close attention murmuring while others sat back and didn't bother. He turned his face to the barmaid, and it turned out she was really small.
He was twice her size, yet at that moment, he felt small.
Barely five feet tall, but moved with confidence of someone twice her size. Her boots hit the ground sharp and deliberate, weaving through chaos with practiced ease. Brown hair spilled from a loose braid, strands clinging to her cheeks and neck, wild from all the heat and motion.
Her face was painted boldy. Smoky eyes, flushed cheeks, lips stained a deep plum.
Her outfit clung close, snitched from dark leather and soft fabric that shimmered faintly with movement. The neckline dipped just enough to draw attention. Out of all the other barmaids, she was the public's favourite one. Certainly not because she owned the tavern. The slit in her skirt made it clear she could both dash through the tight spacing and kick in certain situations. A dagger hung low on her hip, half-hidden beneath the curve of her apron.
The man ran out of the tavern leaving the door open behind him.
The crowd cheered and got around the barmaid.
— Maria! Maria!
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The crew had a match this evening so they had to leave earlier than usual so the tavern was almost empty without those guys. I spotted my sister cleaning the tables and replacing the chairs.
— Do you always have to be this way?
She stayed hunched over her work.
— There was no need to kick him like that.
"If I didn't you could've been hurt."
She continuously wiped the table in slow, steady circles.
— you're always trying to attract attention and be so different, don't you Maria? The guy probably didn't have any choice."
Maria stopped wiping the table and finally decided to face me with her full attention.
She looked at me in confusion, "Hey what the heck? Are you seriously sympathizing with that thug? He insulted us. He had a knife to your throat, Eda."
I sighed, pinching my forehead.
— He wouldn't do any harm. You had to play a hero.
— You're so overprotective of me, it's—unbearable. Literally.
The words hit her like a slap.
She froze mid-wipe, the damp cloth crushed in her hand. For a second, she didn't move, not because she hadn't heard, but because she had. Every syllable. Her eyes lifted slowly and blinked,once,twice.
"You think I do this because I like hovering over you? "Playing the hero"? Because I want "attention"? Her voice was low. "Because I enjoy watching you wreck yourself and pretend I don't see it? God forbid, I don't like seeing those kinds of people who go around harassing and causing trouble. No, oh no, I certainly am trying to attract attention because I don't want you to get hurt!"
Her voice began to crumble, but I looked away. Pretending I didn't see her.
I didn't respond.
She tossed the cloth onto the table, the sound soft but final. "Fine. Next time, I won't bother."
She walked past me, bumping into me on purpose and walked away firmly into the storage room.
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[ A quiet corner behind the school, late afternoon ]
I kicked at a pebble, watching it skitter across the pavement. "She said she won't bother next time", I muttered. "As if I asked for any of this."
Across from me, my friend blinked at me from her perch on the low brick wall, legs swinging. Her hair was a mess—just like me, two ponytails jutting out from beating another kid. wispy bangs half-stuck to her glasses. Her glasses weren't round because she claims only nerds wear round glasses as a coping mechanism for defending herself against the 'nerds wear glasses' stereotype so she has the rectangular ones that she thinks are the cool and superior ones. It made her look bitchy and like she was constantly judging—which she is.
— Your sister sounds awful, man. I don't know what I'd do if I had a sibling like that.
I picked a pebble and shot it across the fence,
"I guess now we're on the same boat."
— What boat?
She snorted, adjusting the strap of her denim suspender skirt. It fluttered just above her knees, her school shoes tapping against the wall. "You're tired of this village, aren't you?"
— The conversation you just shared, it sounded like you don't care if that man stabbed you right there. Are you bored?
She gave me a crooked smile, "You're bored aren't you, Eda!"
nervously, I denied.
"Hey, you know, let's run away from this shithole."
I turned my neck and looked at the sky before picking another small rock and throwing it to the other side of the fence. "Where would we even go?"
"Victoria." She said, hopping down.
— The other side of The Wall?! That's impossible!
I was shocked by what I've just heard as a suggestion. There's no way people like us are allowed to footstep in Victoria.
Her striped shirt rode up a little when she stretched, and she tugged it back down before pursuing, "It's possible now. Do you not know what's going on in the news?"
I shook my head.
— Ha. I'll tell you Eda, The queen lost her title for disobeying the
She fixed her glasses.
— There's no queen in Victoria anymore AND there's a bounty on her. 500,000,000 Vekos.
— FIVE HUNDRED MILLION?!
— FIVE. HUNDRED.MILLION?
"mhm, five.hundred.milion." She held up five fingers like I couldn't count. "We'll get it."
I was lost in my head then she flicked her fingers to bring me back and said, "But..for it, i need a few Vekos..like…five hundred bucks for travel and tickets and stuff, maybe even more…"
I stared at her. "You need five hundred Vekos…?"
She grabbed hold of her hands, "Yep. I was hoping you could lend me…we can share once we caught the queen! 50/50." She gave me a friendly smile, "I promise."
— Cherley
I observed her.
She was tapping her shoes nervously, "I'll give it to you if you let me come also! That money also belongs to me."
She jumped into my arms in a cheerful tone and said, "Of course! Of course! Two is always better than one! Let's go Queen hunting!"