By the Bone

6. A Debt Paid

"I'm glad you see sense, boy. No point dwelling." Queeny simpered, though Triste knew there would have been no short of repercussions for the headless rich man that he'd left for Queeny to clean up. Triste briefly wondered just how deep Queeny's pockets really went.

Triste clapped his not-father on the back and held him a moment in an embrace, forehead pressed against forehead. It was all the thanks he could give the man.

"You've just missed that girl of yours. I hope you know who it is you let bathe you, boy. Best keep clear of that lot altogether. I much prefer your head on your shoulders." Queeny muttered, his voice just loud enough for Triste's ears.

"Missed her? She came back?" Triste furrowed a brow at the man and took a step back.

"Aye. She's still in there now. Your favoured pit no doubt. Avoid it if you can." Queeny frowned.  "I've given her my thanks, no need to be owing the girl."

Triste nodded and walked on towards the kitchen. He wouldn't've been back so soon to fight if Queeny and Cuchillo hadn't come and pestered him during the day. "It'll make you feel better, lad" They'd said. The truth was, other than his bruises and swollen wounds he felt okay. But it was the fact that he hadn't felt as guilty as he'd anticipated that made him stay home the long rise and not seek out their company. If anything he felt only guilt for Queeny cleaning up after him and his carelessness, if he could call it that. He still wasn't sure what really took hold of him last night. Or maybe he did. He wasn't ready to confront that answer yet either.

Triste snagged another bottle of mystery liquor from behind the bar on his way through. He was starting to suspect that Queeny was replenishing the stuff just for him. He stepped through the familiar cupboard door, sucking a deep lungful of rotten air, and started down the path. At the intersection, he leaned against the musty wall of the tunnel and sucked in a quick breath, taking a large mouthful of booze before turning left. As he walked on past the doorway of the first pit he paused just a second, with no intention of stopping at all, Queeny's warning fresh on his mind. But the noise that erupted from the room was deafening. He'd not heard the room in such a state except once, and that had been only a rise past, and he'd been the one to receive it. In his moment of hesitation, he caught the eye of Tom lingering in the doorway, though his attention seemed half drawn to the pit as well.

"Trist, fairing well, I see. Come get a look at this!" He yelled, for the noise was only growing and Tom's voice was struggling to hurdle over it. Tom's gaze searched for a glimpse of the action.

"What's causing that?" Triste yelled back, he was standing right before Tom now.
Though he asked the question, Triste knew there could only be one thing causing a ruckus like that, and he had a feeling it looked awfully like a woman dressed in rust-coloured Khaal suit and impenetrable armour plates.

"That girl that helped you no doubt. She's fighting if you can believe it." Tom laughed in disbelief. "She's not half bad either!" He guffawed and grinned from ear to ear.

"I believe it..." Triste mumbled, more to himself than to Tom, the word Vijeta hanging thickly in his mouth threatening to come out.

He pulled himself back from the uproar, taking a step back through the rocky doorway and the inevitable and ill-advised series of events laying through it. Naturally, he couldn't find it in himself to take another step. The pull of curiosity and the sheer magnitude of the clamorous crowd was electrifying to him. It snared him back through the door and he stepped past Tomador once more, placing the same bottle in the grinning man's hands with a nod. Queeny wouldn't like this, he knew. That thought ought to have been enough to turn him away but that pull continued to tug at him silently and he followed it like a mouse to a trap.