On The Edge of a Blade

Chapter 7.2

"Freaking witch," Rose growled, her grasp tightening upon the file, crumpling part of it mindlessly. She barreled through the hallway leading back into the main room of the tavern. "Dirty scumbag. Two faced demon." Her insults and profanity got progressively worse as she proceeded, filling the empty space with her anger. It transcended a mere emotion, warping into a physical being that pressed into each wall, from floor to ceiling. No amount of money could calm her in this situation.

But she wasn't merely filled with fury; beneath each foul curse remained trembling dread, a permeating fear which she didn't often experience. To cope with its appearance, Rose leaned onto her foul temper, pushing rage to the surface to cover up what dwelt deeper within. 

Whatever had happened back in the office wasn't normal, but rather far more unsettling. Not even Shilah, the wicked anarchist and remorseless assassin that she was, behaved in such a malicious manner. For a moment there, her voice hadn't even been her own, but rather the deep purr that could only be described as demonic. Even recalling the memory, fresh as it was, caused shivers to sneak their way up Rose's spine.

A door seemed to grow out of thin air before Rose, one that she hadn't seen until she nearly ran into it. Her eyes were blinded with grotesque emotion, all of the unwanted feelings within her stomach boiling and rising up like a fog to obscure her vision. Blinking rapidly, Rose forced the mist away, her hand reaching out to grasp the door handle.

Did her hand always shake so violently?

Rose wanted to feel disgusted with herself, but she couldn't bring herself to diminish her worry. Instead of boldly standing tall, she found herself deflating rapidly.

Now. Now she needed that ale. Not only that, but she needed to get as far away from Shilah as possible.

Grimacing, Rose tensed the muscles in her hand and forced the door open, inspired into action once again by those two overarching goals.

Upon walking back out into the tavern, Rose was met with the warm babble of intoxicated voices. The light was soft and welcoming, the atmosphere was easy, and the scent of drink upon the air was lulling. It was nights such as these that people seemed to give upon on looking over their shoulders every other second, putting aside their worry and trading it for a bit of candid mirth in a world filled with joyless solemnity. 

There was something comforting about this leisurely scene and gentle soundtrack. Conversing with friends in such an environment was normal and peaceful. If Rose tried hard enough, she could trick her mind into adopting this reality. More than anything else, she yearned to forget about the unnatural weight upon her mind.

With trouble was still festering deep within Rose, she decided then and there that it was worth it to indeed try and forget. Her problems were still going to be there come tomorrow; why waste tonight concerning herself with them, as well?

As Rose traveled forward and attempted to scout out a table to settle into, it became uncomfortably clear that the attendance of the Fennec Tavern had increased substantially. In the time since she had been interacting with Shilah, a whole slew of men, exhausted after a day of seemingly pointless toil, had entered to forget their worries. Though her work was of a different genre than most other's, Rose understood and related to that need entirely. Even if the solution was superficial, and the after effects often damning, alcohol was one of the few things available to man that did its job satisfactorily. When certain pieces of life nagged at the back of the mind, liquor managed to cease the stirring of worry. Unfortunately, as every troubled soul found eventually, wine and ale were little more than temporary fixes.

So while Rose looked out of place amongst men with faces forever damaged by the relentlessly scorching sun, she emotionally fit into their ranks just right. She was just yet another small piece of a tragic puzzle, overlooked and yet still significant.