The sun’s light was sharp, yet the air outside still remained more chilly even if still warming. Even so, such fresh air and such pointed light, these were sensations still alien to her exposed skin. One year was not nearly enough time become used to such, indeed; though, she had certainly become…accustomed enough.
Such could not be said for the crowded street, with so many denizens about making all manners of…noises. Banners and other such ‘vexils’ were waving about in greater abundancy; the buildings around were likewise rather decorated. The foreigner had been in this sprawling primitive settlement long enough to know that such festive decoratives and good cheers were indicative of a ‘holiday’—or, more accurately: a busy day at work.
A denizen near abruptly yawned whilst the foreigner walked, causing her to yawn in turn… Truly, such an irritatingly contagious impulse, this ‘yawning’ was. She had experienced such priorly, yet never this frequently.
Hmm… The foreigner paused, or rather… She deviated from her course off the street and onto the side pavement and then paused, lest she be stampeded by the hoard of denizens making way behind. Regardless, she had noticed…this ‘market’ stand of sorts.
She was within a ‘commercial district’—areas designated for the distribution and trade of resources in which these coins of silver were used as the universal exchange commodity. Thus, such commercial stands were all over the place… However, this specific stand was exceptionally active.
Generic humiforms—biological females—were frolicking all over it, practically; specialist humiforms—biological males—were likewise present, competing amongst each other and were otherwise attempting to solicit the females’ attention.
Right… She had seen this specific stand many times before. It ‘sold’—or traded in exchange for an agreed quantity of coin—‘jewelry’. ‘Amulets’, ‘rings’, and other such cosmetic trinkets made from so-called ‘precious metals’ towards which denizens prescribed great value, largely for abstract reasons—the same abstractions that made those so-called precious metals so ‘precious’.
However, such ‘market jewelries’—as they were called—were considered to be a predominantly female affair… Again, largely for arbitrary and abstract reasons.
Males would only purchase such ‘expensive’ trinkets in order to solicit the attention of a female. Likewise, ‘poorish’ females would also come to these stands in hopes an ‘affluent’ male would purchase a desired trinket of interest for them, and possibly find a ‘partner’—a long-term reproductive mate, presumably —in the process. Though, many females were also attempting to just…purchase things independently with their own coin surplus.
Hmm… The foreigner stared… Well, considering she was female, she might as well participate and play the role of a ‘lady’—a ‘normal’ one at that. Such provided opportunities for her to practice her socializing and ‘bartering’ skills as well as affect expression, and she had some time…ish…left, she surmised.
Thus, with a relaxing inhale, she donned a casual smile and promptly approached that bejeweled stand, waiting behind…quite the blobbing mass of ladies and courting men… This was going to require more time than estimated, she immediately realized.
-|-
“Ninety-five silverrs!” so spoke the chubby vendor who stood behind this jewelry stand, his voice with rather the…trilled rhotic accent; his hand waved away over the jewelry on display.
Silver rings and ‘necklaces’ for the most part, all rather bland although some had elaborate patterns of sorts engraved. Cheap, affordable, and purely ‘commoner’ aesthetically; the fact that such silver rings were even affordable for ladies of such ‘lowborn’ class was a novelty in its own right, hence the popularity.
The foreigner stared, before gently tilting her head with ostensible contemplation… “Ninety-five of the silvers, you said?” she began to speak respectfully, her own alien accent rather prominent though not incomprehensible; “…was not the price of these…things in the range of…the fifty of the silvers the week before, no?” According to what she had heard from the ladies preceding her, at least.
Yet the vendor merely stared down at her… All he saw was a shortish seemingly Far Western girl who must obviously have more coin on her than appearances implied. “Oh… Well, you know how it is dzese days, no?” he began to reply, his accent…lacking dental fricatives also; “So much coin is flowing into dzis city, and dzey keep finding morre mines everry day across all dze tousand realms, so silverr is too, too unstable… And dze instability of silverr is not, not my prroblem…orr fault.” He waved his hand. “Besides, you arre Farr Westerrn, no? Do not tell me you arre low on silverrs?”
“Uhm… Far Western colonial, more accurately… I am from the…New World…” the foreigner replied; “And to me, there is not the…many silvers. I am quite the…poor, in truth…” She seemed somewhat embarrassed, ostensibly.
Her job barely paid enough to cover her monthly rent, frankly. The only the reason she had accumulated her own surplus was due to…not needing to spend any excess coin on basic necessities, such as…food. Her coin pouch was full of 90 silvers, 5 shy below 95.
The vendor gasped aback; “A poorr Farr Westerrn lady? Osh fr?t ag Dzeygonz! I have neverr hearrd of such a ting!” he exclaimed, flabbergasted sarcastically; “Hm… Dzough, dze colonies, you said?” He began to think, stroking his chin as he leaned inwards; “Yes… Dzat mask too… Dzere was another like you, I rrememberr. A New World half-elf, dark-green…blueish hairr… Had an even fancierr mask dzan you…”
The foreigner, however, began to look more down, avoiding eye contact… “Oh, I see…”
“…she would always come by herre and just…starre at one rring, but would neverr buy, always saying she only had…a place forr one rring on herr hand, haha… I tink, I tink she just did dzat to…taunt orr someting… She might’ve been a widow, too, I tink…” he reminisced in warmful recall.
“Yes… I believe that I know…whom you speak about…” the foreigner began to speak, her smile fading; “She is…was…the friend to me. We come from the same…place, the colony where the…elves and the peoples…live with the peace” She paused, donning quite the sorrow… “She is…no longer here…”
Hearing such words and…understanding what was being implied, the vendor’s chuckling and humorful affect dampened; “Oh… I was wonderring why I hadn’t seen dzat one for too long… Dzat is…trragic to hearr...” he replied, saddened deeply… A momentary silence ensued, before his attention abruptly shifted; “You know what, how about dzis,” he began to say, his finger pointing at a specific silver ring still in inventory, “look at dzat rring over therre”.
The foreigner promptly shifted her gaze, evaluating…
This silver ring was somewhat more elaborate and ‘fancy’ in its engraved patterns and had…bronze or a related shiny metal embroiled, likewise. With respect to similar jewelry she had observed and their prices, this ring was likely to be well-above 90 silvers in value.
“Dzat is the rring she always looked at… No one else has seemed interested dzis, so I give it to you forr… Hmm… Let’s say, fifty-five silverrs?” the vendor offered cordially.
Hmm… Certainly a ‘deal’, perhaps… Although, that would be more than 60% of her surplus coin, and she had been explicitly and clearly instructed to not overspend her accumulated surplus, even if such ‘spending’ was only ever to done for the illusion of ‘’normalcy’. Regardless, she was not interested in spending more than half of her surplus for what was, ultimately, a functionally useless trinket.
“Attractive, but…another time, perhaps.” she said, somewhat abruptly; “There is only ninety of the silvers to me, and I am with the…uhm…‘budget’?” She did not know if that was the correct word or not. Regardless, she began to walk off…
Although, on second thought… She paused… Hmm… Actually, she could perhaps practice that ‘haggling’ she had observed other denizens do prior…
Indeed, turning herself around, she quickly reapproached that vendor and his stand. “Actually, a second whisper enters my head,” the foreigner began to say with a charm as she rearrived, “now that I think… Forty-five of the silvers, I can pay, by your will.” She leaned in closer, more openly, and with greater apparent interest, having donned a deceptively natural smile.
The vendor stared, before…blushing a little—an evident indication that her tactic had likely worked. He chuckled aloud; “Haha! I see, you arre one of dzose…cute and manipulative ones, aye?” he remarked, “You know what, fine…deal. Just forr you”.
Her charming smile shifted to more of a victorious giggle… 50% of her surplus coin was significantly lesser than 60%... Although, she probably could have…strived for at least below half of all of her silvers. Oh well. She promptly detached her coin pouch and opened it, rapidly and decisively sorting out 45 silver coins in organized columns of equal quantity.
“Wow… You arre dze tidy and orrganized one, aye? Dzat was fast” the vendor remarked, collecting the columns of coins; “Well, rring is yourrs… Stop by again so we can chat sometime, haha!”
Taking the ring, the foreigner waved a cordial goodbye as she finally departed off and away, reaffixing her, now lighter, coin pouch back to her belt. Quite quickly, feigning charm and donned smile faded, affect returning to flatness. She blankly stared at that silver ring now in her hand… She immediately began to question why she had actually bought it. She felt nothing towards it; everything which had transpired was mere tactical theatrics.
Yet, even so… Hmm… Perhaps it was…interesting; she could maybe see why her former associate had liked it so. Such jewelry, likewise, were signs of social and cultural ‘status’ and ‘class’. Ladies in particular could become quite…viciously competitive regarding such things…and rather scornful too, from what she herself had observed. Thus, maybe there was…some utility to this decorative trinket, even if a more abstract one.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
Hmm… She analyzed, holding the cold ring between two fingers… Right, the foreigner recalled, there was a specific finger she needed to avoid… The so-called ‘ring finger’—the third finger on the left-hand; it had specific designated significance, that finger. Thus, she placed the ring onto her left index finger, which fit rather…perfectly. Even so, it felt rather…strange and peculiar to have such a thing on her hand…and rather uncomfortable too. However, she did purchase it, so…
Regardless, the foreigner looked up at the sky up high, eyeing as she used the sun’s position relative to the world’s rotation speed to…deduce that she was…in fact...now running late. Indeed, that endeavor had taken far more time than assumed. As such, quite promptly, her militarized walking shifted as she began to move with haste, speedily.
-||-
“Hey! Mask! You’re twenty full minutes late!!” so loudly hurled the rather buff and tall man, observing the foreigner so stumble herself in. He stood authoritatively behind the primary counter area of this ‘tavern’ facility.
A rather rustic and primitive place, certainly; wooden construction all around, though with some fancy decoratives.
And… This place was becoming rather packed and busy; so many denizens and their endless noises around… Ugh, already mindache inducing.
Nevertheless, the foreigner…looked at the buff tavernkeeper glaring her down.
? That denizen is your superior. Think of him as your commandant. Follow his orders, execute them well, and you will be fine. ? Such was how her former associate had put it.
Indeed, that authoritative tavernkeeper was her so-called ‘boss’—the one to whom she had to listen and obey, for he was the one who provided her pay.
Thus, sighing with apparent shame, the foreigner averted her mask-obscured eyes down as she approached that very counter area. “I give the apologies, I became…distracted with the…silly thing… The very stupid thing…” she immediately apologized as she halted before the counter and her boss’s glaring stare, her accented voice shaded in embarrassed guilt supported further by her body-language; though, her baggy mask-obscured eyes remained ever cold and hollow, calculative.
The tavernkeeper let out a frustrated groan; “I pay you for good reason, remember that. I have certain expectations! You manage to make up for all of your…quirks by being studiously proficient, but you’ve been making a habit of this lately… It has been like this every day the last month!” His voice was strict and lambasting.
“I give the apologizes…” Face remaining down, she apologized again; “It has just been…very difficult for me lately… I am not used to her being gone…” she spoke with ostensible melancholy.
The tavernkeeper, hearing this, drifted his eyes away slightly, posture relaxing… “That mystery elf was a good one, that’s for sure… I never bothered asking who she was or who you even are because she did her job, and she did it well.” he stated; “Listen, I don’t know what happened, but it’s been months. Your lady grieving isn’t my problem… You need to collect your shit together. Twenty-minutes is well enough to burden your peers!”
“Hm…” She was more collected than he was, frankly.
“She vouched for your behalf, and for good reason; I see that. But…I can’t make any more exceptions. Come in late one more time, and I’ll have to cut your pay. Got it?” he asserted.
She sighed; “Certainly…”
“Good. Now, get to work.” the tavernkeeper thus commanded.
With an acknowledging nod, the foreigner withdrew from that counter and headed through a specific wooden door to the left. She entered a ‘staffroom’ of sorts, a location where the personnel of this facility would come to take a break—whenever they were actually granted one—and store any belongings.
Promptly, she approached one of the many-many wooden cubicles within this room—no locks or seals, a mere open cube of a storage space—and placed her bag into it, a rather plopping metallic bonk being heard… For indeed, she always kept a…precaution within that bag.
Nevertheless, she exited out of that staffroom and back into the tavern beyond. Thus, so began yet another day at this so-called ‘job’ of hers… And it was going to be monotonous, she already predicted… Ugh.
-|-
“Heya, mask!” so abruptly approached a fellow waitress peer.
“Hello to you” the foreigner, having only stepped in moments ago, greeted in kind.
This friendly peer peered at the foreigner with quite the cutesy lean, immediately noticing a difference in her attire this day; “Oh, let me see your… Awww! That is such a nice ring! It looks lovely on you!” she complimented with a pleasant smile.
“Oh.” the foreigner’s affect nearly flattened; “Yes… I like it…too…” she replied, somewhat more…awkward, though only just managing to retain that feigning charm.
Yet her peer leaned in closer with now a more…gently mischievous smirk; “Soo…” she began to wonder, “did a special someone buy that for you… Or…?”
“No.” The foreigner was perhaps too blunt; “Ahem… I did the buying myself…”
Her peer’s expressions deflated, disappointed; “Oh, pooy… With all the men around who come here to gloat on us, you’d believe at least one would have the courage to do us a favor, hmph!” she spoke with a slight pucker to her cheek, before relooking at the foreigner’s ring; “Though, that looks pricy… Did someone give you a fat tip?”
“Actually, no… I just do not spend…a lot… I am what they call the ‘cheap’..” the foreigner cordially replied.
Her peer giggled quite; “Yeah… I think can see that, the way you hoard your tips…” She sighed a calming breath; “Well’nyway, uhm… First day of a new year, day of Winter’s Reign, and we’re having a late solstice—so, it’s gonna be restless today and especially tomorrow… So, I need you to …” Thus, she began to instruct the foreigner, tasks being given.
The foreigner’s general tasks tended to be cleaning the tables as soon as these ‘customers’ or ‘patrons’ departed, filling their orders and providing the denizens their ‘beverages’…of cognitive impairing properties, as well as helping her peers in their own tasks, and such and such: all mundane and tedious labor.
Though, the foreigner had no issues with executing these directives; they were rather simple for her standards. Neither did she have any difficulties with the long and often…thankless hours—she was used to considerably longer periods of continuous operation, frankly. Due to her studiousness, diligences, and tolerances, in fact, she would often be tasked with staying well past closing to prepare this tavern facility for the following day—for additional…menial compensation.
Nevertheless, the foreigner thus went off and attended to her necessary tasks, chores, and doings. As this holiday progressed, the day dragging forth, such work only intensified and grew in scope. More and more patrons arrived in ever-greater blobs of ever-greater intensity, filling the entire area with their denizen…noises.
Shouting, chatting, laughing, hackling, so many noises of so many pitches and intensities… They pierced the foreigner in ways she could not comprehend deep down within; she found it all…difficult to tolerate.
Yet, as noon befell as the sun made way, such only seemed to became even worse.
The tavernkeeper himself, in fact, became overwhelmed with the intensity of patrons and their ceaseless…intoxicated demands; without his supervising oversight, it was easier for squabbles and…bickering problems to emerge. And there were only so many tavern waitresses to go around to deal with every emergent issue… Indeed, they had become rather…outnumbered.
“Oh, hey! Hey! Heyyy! Mask! Heyyy!” a voice began to heckle away with waving hands.
A sizzling sigh left the foreigner’s breath as she paused, turned, and eyed…
An armored man of sorts seated amongst other armored men of equal sorts around a small, yet efficient, table. Primitive, rustic, and largely alloy compounds; for denizen standards, they were well-equipt and proficient enough combat specialists despite being unaffiliated with local military. “Mask! Come, come!” And they were familiar patrons… Ugh.
Truly, with all these denizens stampeding this facility with their…noises, she had struggled to even make out their initial hails. Even so, with a rebounding inhale, she donned a charming smile and promptly approached, squeezing her way through a few denizens.
? Salvét—ehem— ? Wrong language. “—I greet you all, fine sirs!” she cordially greeted upon arrival; “And what may I do for you all in this…night?” Was it even night? She knew not.
“Oh, you know…the usual, but… We just wanted to chat…” the principal armored man so spoke.
“More like, you wanted to chat, ha! Only reason why we come here and not stay in the Guild!” thus laughingly remarked one of his peers.
“Ah, shut up!” the armored man blushed, seemingly.
One of his peers sitting next to him stood up, looking at her; “Don’t be shy now, come on! Take a sit!” He offered his chair.
It required a singularity’s worth of willpower to not groan at this moment. The foreigner did, however, sigh faintly. Indeed… Humoring and socializing was also part of this job, ugh. Even though she had not the time to spare, she was not necessarily permitted to say no. Thus, acquiescing was not optional. “Certainly! It is pleasing to me to chat!” she replied with ‘delight’, before promptly…taking her sit.
“Aha! Nice of ya to join!” another of that armored man’s peers so blumbled out.
“You fine sirs are with the…happiness this night” she remarked cordially, maintaining that smiling charm even if it…was becoming quite tiresome to maintain.
“Of course we are!” the armored man so spoke; “We just returned from a long journey clearing a dungeon! An actual Demon-King’s spawned dungeon! Gods’ sacred toilet, you know how rare those quests are these days? Dungeons don’t really pop up as problems no more!”
“Yeah, but we were left with the scraps, though, cause others had already looted it clean,” one of his peers interposed, “but… You know, we might be Silver-rank, but…we did our part, and cleared out all the remainders; think we’ll have enough experience to move to Gold”.
“Yeah, still the fattest thickest pay our party’s ever received! So, we’re celebrating tonight, heha!” the armored man spoke with intoxicated glee; “And I get to talk to you, fine madam!”
“Oh, how you…flatter me so” she replied, ‘flattered’.
The armored man took one large gulp of his…foamy and creamy…cognitive impairing…liquid substance, the smell of which she had long become sick of… Indeed, her own brain was disabled by the scent alone.
Nevertheless, he sighed; “Ahh… You know, just gotta celebrate moments like these… Ours is a dying profession, even if it don’t look like it… Shit’s changing every damn year, and we keep getting approached by mercs looking to hire. ‘Firepower is the way things are going now, not individual skills’ or ‘your special adventurer skills would be better with us, even an Onyx-rank is no match to a volley’… But you know what I tell them?”
“Fuck ‘em!” one of his peers so shouted.
“Yeah! Fuck ‘em!” the armored man declared; “We might as well be the last generation of adventurers, but…” His voice drifted… “You know, by the time I finally settle down with a nice gal and start a family, the Guild might just be a story, but…I wanna make sure… I want to make sure I’ve got good ones to tell them…” he remarked, solemnly; “We aren’t mercs… We’re adventurers! The Guild ain’t just…a job! The Guild’s, well, it’s the Guild! It’s a way of life! Just isn’t the same, you know?”
She had frankly no idea what his intoxicated rambles were going on about; she was not paying significant attention.
“Even the Guild…though, it isn’t the same… Hasn’t been for decades and decades…” his laments continued; “You know, either we die or…evolve so much we aren’t even what were before… And in both cases…we go extinct, you know? But”—he burped—“whatever the case be, imma stick with it until the fucking end, just so I can say: see kids and kids’ kids, I was there ‘till the end!”
“…well, I hope that the future to you is…goodest” the foreigner finally replied, trying to retain smiling cordiality.
Yet: “Hey, mask!” So abruptly arrived a fellow tavern waitress, hair messy, eyes exhausted, and visibly stressed; “Quit flirting around! I need your help! Now!”
The foreigner, sighing yet again, courteously stood up; “Well, that was…pleasant”—It really was not—“but it is time for departing…” Thus, with a gracious bow, she followed her peer… For indeed, there was rather the work needing to be done.
And the evening was only going to become even busier and busier. To make this reality even more absurd, this day was merely the tip of what was to come. Apparently an even greater day of festive celebration was to befall tomorrow, during which everything shut down as all rejoiced in celebratory break—besides, of course, those unlucky few like she and her peers…
Frankly, in moments such as these, she could not help but contemplate deep down within…what in this domain of reality she was even doing anymore.
A sentiment hardly alien to you, indeed.
