Summer, the 11th, 513 AV
Around the Chime of the 15th Bell
It was a truly nasty bruise, yellow and purple in color, its appearance similar to a poorly mixed batch of paint. And like paint, the contusion, which had been applied sloppy with a drunken hand, was splattered around the circumference of her eye, marring her face. Hideous, the gnarly mark failed to attract much pity; disgust was the usual reaction. The thief, not possessing ravishing beauty in the first place, found the swollen, throbbing eye to interfere with her work. Even drunks and pigs could not be seduced by her while the mark was stamped on her face. Often, she would find herself sneered at and roughly shoved aside. Hiding the misfortunate bash had found itself to be a futile task as well; for the painful colors made a startling obnoxious contrast to her already sickly looking sallow skin and could not even be erased with (purloined) cosmetic paints. Having little money was expected and not a concern of Reign’s; but ever since she had taken the wallop to the face, her already light pockets felt as though they were stuffed with feathers. Until the mark cleared up the thief had accepted she would have to ignore her growling stomach and lack of sufficient funds for a spell. If she dwelled in any other city, she would be haunting the local market, robbing produce from vendors was not an impressive ability. But, to her dreadful luck, shoplifting food in Zelvita was a lost cause. There was only one consistent option: fish. And there was only so much of that slimy, scaly stuff that Reign could tolerate. Her parent’s old chef used to tease Reign that the only reason she was so thin was her rancor towards fish. Well she had gained weight in Ravok…
“Are you waiting for someone? Or are you going to get a drink?” a gruff voiced sounded overhead. Broken from her thoughts, she glanced around the room. She was sitting alone in the back of a dirty crowded bar. A group of men to her right were singing an off tune drinking melody. Looking up to face the speaker, Reign’s brown eyes met with the cloudy grey ones of the bar tender. Fat, but solid, he towered over the little thief. She could have fit, with room to spare, in his shadow.
“No,” fishing in her pocket for absent coin, Reign shook her head, “neither.”
“Then why are you-“ slamming a meaty fist onto the splintery wooden table, his thick brows furrowed together, “you’re that girl! You robbed the late night guy of his coin!”
Nimbly leaping up to her feet, Reign backed away from the infuriated man, tripping over the back of her chair, “n-no you have no proof!”
Before she could grab the opportunity to flee, the bartender hoisted her up by the scruff of her blouse and dragged her to the entrance of the bar. Kicking and squirming, she could hear other patrons of the bar jeering at her and murmuring amongst themselves. Opening the door, the enormous man ruthlessly threw her outside, yelling “come back here and I’ll whip you!” at her back. Landing face first, Reign yelped, inhaling a mouthful of dirt and mud. Her bruise throbbed. |
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