Fink

Fink | II

"Rubbish scite!" Adrian yelled, her greedy and friendly eyes now stone cold and rigid. She slammed her fist onto the wooden desk of the village's headman, causing his cup of Yame Sencha tea tumble and run across the leveled surface. "Are you kidding me?"

          The headman was clearly intimidated as he shook his head no. He knew what she was capable of, but he couldn't let the fact slide that she didn't exactly complete her task. Her first assignment was to bring the couple back from the forest, and despite the girl being announced as dead, her lover—his son—could yet be alive, roaming the forest; trying to find his way back.

          "I'm sorry, Mister—Miss Tancock," he caught his breath for a moment, swallowing a ball of guilt that retained in his throat. "But it is the inevitable; we can't give you the complete payment. I advise you to either accept our offer or search for my son. If you deny both things, fine. Leave the village and continue your pitiful life. Even so, you have to keep in mind that we can easily tattletale your illegal mercenary acts to the kingdom in return of your insolence."

          An uncomfortable tension quickly blossomed and soared the thick air full of sweet incense; vaguely lit by a standing torch, whose yellow, red and orange flames danced with the rich winds that creeped through the colorful flaps of the tent they were reunited in. It almost dared to speak in the silence they beheaded with scornful and skeptical glances. At least it wasn't long until Adrian clenched her jaw and cautiously retrieved her fist from the table, entirely caught up in the headman's caramel brown eyes, whom stared into hers undoubtedly intently.

          The sorrow they revealed of a longing presence of an absent son gripped her every breath; shaking her, suffocating her, making her remember that she was only a speck in the world; with feet, with a sword, with the ability to carelessly kill. It was a slap on the cheek, really, but her selfishness was greater than her sentimentalism for others.

          With a scoff, she assessed the men that stood by his opposite sides, whom tightly held onto lances as large as themselves. Poor them; Adrian could easily take them on with only her poor abilities in hand-to-hand combat owing to the fact that, despite wearing metal and golden lorica segmentata's—a type of personal armour consisting of strips fastened to internal leather straps—they just looked too feeble and awfully humble.

          Cute.

          "Um, yeah. Why do I need to search for him?" Adrian finally retorted, raising one of her thick brows. "The Helheim's dead. If the kid isn't rotting, he's technically fine. Well, um, excluding the original threats: wolves, bears, jaguars... Erm, yeah. Your precious men here can search for him. It's not much of a job. That's what I'm trying to say."

          The headman folded his hands below his chin, closing his monolid eyes for a moment. He gathered confute for the dangerous young adult before him and replied, saying: "Because he was and still is part of your duty, my young mercenary. And if you so much desire the complete sack of derriry, you must search for my son... Please."

          Adrian groaned and let her head fall to the side. Her mature features vanished into more of a childish look, taking in consideration her look of protest. It funnily consisted of a large pout and narrowed peepers squeezed shut. She was still a twenty year old, so in some way, she was yet still a child. But a miserable one, at that.

          "What a drag..." she sighed, hopelessly. "Fine. I'll do the shitty job. But this will also cost you a shine on my blade, got it?"