On The Edge of a Blade

Chapter 5.2

Standing jerkily, Sloane wiped his wet hand off on his pants, just another layer of grime to his clothing. In a kingdom such as this, no one could escape being either literally or figuratively unclean. "U-Um, well, a ray of sunshine as always," he said, speeding through his words, "but I have a buyer to attend to."

"Oh, leaving so soon?" Sadistically, Rose felt satisfaction at having sufficiently frightened Sloane, and she displayed it in her tone of voice. Any sweeter, and it would be a bushel of sugar cane which sat mocking the drug dealer.

No wonder people tended to dislike her: Rose was a pretty face with an excess of bitter insolence. The world had done a number upon her, giving her sarcasm and hatred where other girls her age bore soft grace.

Before Sloane could walk away, however, Rose became serious. "He's a rich kid, isn't he?" she asked.

Sloane nodded, grabbed his drink, and downed what hadn't been already spilled or consumed in one swift gulp.

"He doesn't realize that he sticks out like a sore thumb, does he?"

The smile was tight, but it was still present on Sloane's face. "Nope. He doesn't know what he's asking for. Dumb brat wants to get high without the side effects. Last time I checked, that's rather impossible." He set the tankard back on the table. "Been comin' to me for about three weeks now. If he keeps asking for the same damn thing every time, he's going to build up an immunity. You can do that pretty easily with Synthazide."

Rose snorted. "Know what's up with that?"

"Not exactly. Trying to cope with some family tragedy, I suppose. He doesn't realize it, but he's gonna need something stronger to keep up. Luckily, I'm here to help." Sloane smacked the table, and nodded to Rose, not quite meeting her gaze. "Good luck with your own business, then."

He's there to help? What did he mean by that? Sloane was a drug dealer, not a therapist. So, unless he was going to be 'helping' by handing out free doses, or useless free advice, his intentions were completely unknown to Rose.

As Sloane went to meet the dark haired male, Rose called out one final remark, a remark which made him pause for a moment. "Oh, and thanks for the drink!" His very posture bespoke his irritation, but the dealer didn't refuse to pay. If only out of caution for how the assassin would otherwise respond, he accepted the bill without complaint.

A mischievous smile played on Rose's lips, but quickly died. Something about Sloane's offhanded words and uncommonly serious demeanor seemed . . . off. The only help that drug dealers give is despicable. At first glance, she might be tempted to dismiss the oddity of Sloane's behavior, but her gut told her that there was something more to the story.

If there was one thing which Rose was attentive towards, it was the smell of a conniving rat. The assassin pulled her long braid over her shoulder, playing with the course, broken ends of her hair in a thoughtful manner. She didn't trust Sloane as far as she could throw him -- which, considering their difference in size, wouldn't be very far at all.

Which left her two choices: either she could give a damn, or she could not. If Sloane was going to do something underhanded, then intervening may well promote Rose to the role of hero in the eyes of the oblivious rich kid, saving him from something dastardly. Unfortunately, if she attempted to play the heroine (not heroin, there's a difference), she would end up roped into the problem herself, a price of goodness which she didn't exactly wish to bear.

Thus, if she pursued the latter, her life would prove to be infinitely easier. She would be able to suffer through a meeting filled with Shilah's trademark conceit, then return home afterwards. It was high time for her bathe and untangle her frustratingly coarse hair from its braid, something which couldn't be done unless she took the simplest path.

How appealing the easy way out ways! Less trouble for her, and she would finally be able to get around to cutting off the rough, broken ends of her hair . . . .

Maybe making a decision now wasn't the best plan of action. Maybe she was simply overanalyzing Sloane's words and turning a simple offhanded comment into a major concern. Rose frowned, and let out a breath.

As Sloane and his buyer sat at a table in the corner together, Rose picked up her teacup and drank the remainder of her spiked tea. A moment later, as though called to by the empty glass, the same waitress who had interacted with Sloane earlier approached her.

"Can I get you anything else?" Her face wasn't an open book, but it was clear that she had watched Rose threaten the drug dealer. The remnant of unbanished intrigue lingered upon her thin face.

Unlike most girls who landed jobs in places such as this, there was an air of intelligence about her. "Yes, actually," Rose began. She moved her cup away when the waitress reached for it. "First of all, this goes on that gentleman's tab." Rose tilted her head towards Sloane, and the girl's perplexed gaze followed. "And he's graciously going to buy me another, after I finish with this one." The waitress noted the fact that there wasn't anything left in the cup, but made no comment upon the empty state.

Rose could already see that she was right in her quick assessment of the waitress.

"Second of all, before asking if you can get those two anything, you're going to overhear a bit of their conversation. For gossiping purposes, you'll pass on any information you acquire to me. Got it?"

The waitress paused, considering Rose's instructions. "Sloane always tells me to stay away from him when he's doing business," she pondered aloud. "He'll have me on his list if I screw something up for him." A bit of dirty mischief infected her countenance, and she made up her mind. "Well, I've snuck a few ales too many tonight to think straight, anyway. I can make it up to him later."

Rose fought to hide her revulsion, unable to overlook the waitress's overly suggestive smile. Was there no one in this forsaken kingdom who actually kept their pants on? Still, she needed someone to eavesdrop for her, and this was the only immediate option within ten feet. "Right. Best not to keep your other customers waiting," she prompted, to which the waitress complied with a sly smile, slinking off on her assignment.

Hoping that the girl wouldn't royally mess it up, Rose sat back in her chair, forcing herself to keep from watching her impromptu spy's progress. Her faith for the waitress's success was rather thin, even if she possessed some indecent ulterior motive for following instructions and interrupting Sloane. If the waitress failed, at least Rose wouldn't be too disappointed; this wouldn't be the first time a plan of hers fell through.

Though she often found herself doing dirty work for others, she wasn't solely consigned to being a pawn; sometimes she, too, saw fit to delicately push pieces into place.

The temperamental assassin was somehow more aloof than a nobleman and pickier than an elite prostitute. If she hadn't been born into poverty, she would have fit in well with the royal court. What were the rich members of the court, after all, besides cruel killers and immoral conspirators?

A/N: Congrats on making it to the end of another chapter! Are you enjoying it so far? (If the answer is yes, please take the time to comment and vote! In doing so, not only does it encourage me, but I can also turn right around and interact with you, as the reader.) 

I've personally had a wonderful time writing, especially as the characters start to come together. Ever since elementary school, I've been writing little stories that never make it past maybe chapter three. This book, however, has been progressing nicely, and my passion for it actually brings me hope that it'll be completed! It really helps that I have friends holding me accountable and a cast of characters that won't stop tapping me on the back.

Anyway, QOTC: When you were a child, did you have any imaginary friends? If not, did you know anyone else that did (like a sibling, friend, etc.)?

AOTC: I did; their names were Sarah and Rosie. Coincidentally, my sister had the exact same imaginary friends, so there were two Sarahs and Rosies running rampant through my house as a kid xD