The Bad Side || Catradora

Chapter 25: Play Things

"Don't you want to leave that ol' thing here?"

The kid shook their head adamantly. They were holding exactly two objects, not just one ol' thing and they had no intention of putting down either: the first, a shopping list their mother had given them that morning, and, the second, a small stuffed animal. It was a grey horse and it had a fuzzy black mane and a hand-stitched smile and it was tucked away safely in the child's arms.

"Well, fine," the mother pouted her lips. Really, she didn't want her child to go out on their own at all, scared as she was for them, but she'd have to let them discover their independence eventually. Telling them no now would only start an argument. "So long as you can carry the groceries back?"

This time the child nodded with a great determination in their eyes. They were big enough to go into the market on their own, or so they insisted just moments prior. Even at their young age, they knew how much their mother was struggling now that it was just the two of them and they only wanted to help.

"You just remember to keep your head down, then, and come right back when you're done, got it?"

They wouldn't be out for long. The list itself was short, scribbled as it was so hastily on the small piece of parchment: milk, eggs, tomatoes, bread, and fruit. She hadn't specified what kind of fruit on purpose, promising the child they could buy whatever they wanted as long as there was enough money left over.

The mother pulled the child towards her for one last hug before she let them out the door. "And I don't want to hear nothing about any trouble, or you'll have more to worry about than them soldiers! You follow the list, then you come on back."

Waving at her that they understood, the child skipped away, down the steps of their small cottage and along the cobblestone road towards the central marketplace. They kept close to the buildings, avoiding the horses and the carriages and the occasional tank that rolled down the street.

The masses forced the child to weave past them as they walked: vendors selling their wares, farmers selling their produce, and soldiers selling their propaganda.

"Keep it moving," A man, face masked by their helmet, growled at any passerby that lingered too long near one of the tanks. There were four soldiers walking beside the great big machine, two in the front and two in the back, and the child preferred not to be seen by any of them. They slipped past as fast as they could, focused on finding their mom's favorite bakery stand.

"-just rumors." One of the soldiers in the back said as they passed. "Why would she bother with this dump? Besides, even if she tries-"

"I'm tellin' you! A buddy from my old squad said she launched a raid not too far from here. What if there's an attack? They say she can-"

The child didn't really want to hear the rest of the conversation, only understanding vaguely that the Horde soldiers were bad, but the words raid and attack were more bad, and they should steer clear of any such talk.

Picking up the pace, the child began weaving through the crowd more recklessly, darting between legs, pushing past people, when- BAM!

A lump caught in their throat as they looked up at who they'd ran into. Even the luxury of a glaring face alluded them as their eyes met the unreadable gaze of a Horde soldier helmet.

"Hey! You think you can just run around without watching where you're going?!" The soldier shouted, waving his arms around wildly, making the child flinch. "Huh, you stupid brat?!"

The child whimpered as the soldier towered over them. It seemed the man was taking an immense enjoyment out of seeing the kid cower, so he kept it up.

"Don't you know?" The man sneered. "The Horde doesn't have a lot of patience for little runts like you. If you'd have ran into someone meaner than me, they might've just-"