"Oh, what a lovely little girl you are!" The Heiress gushed, gripping her hands together and grinning from ear to ear at the sight of her messenger finally arriving. "I must say, you are quite cuter than I imagined. But then again, I don't have a very good imagination anyway..." Her delicate hands gripped at her teacup; it was pink and white with dainty flowers painted onto its side— fit for a queen, a heiress. "I think you know why you're here, correct? I have a message you must deliver to an old friend of mine... and it is imperative that he get it. Or else... well, or else, this game I'm playing with him won't be very fun."[/list]
The ruckus that screamed and shouted about The Harpy's Mug would be intolerable to anyone who had any shred of class. It was a dingy sort of place, but had a flare of class and spunk that could only be seen through the eyes of a rebel — through the eyes of someone who knew what it was like to get down on your hands and knees and do jobs that you didn't necessarily want to do, but had to. People who had knew both pain and joy congregated here, holding up mugs of frothing beer and hot cocoa spiked with delicate pinches of vodka. The barmaids around these parts had to dress in layers, to keep themselves protected from these harsh winter nights, but that didn't mean they skimped out on their jobs — to serve, and to entertain. They flitted around the tables, vixens wrapped in furs and high boots, winking and patrons, batting their eyes like the devilish coquettes they were while mixing drinks, always on their dainty little feet.
"How can I help you today sir?"
She had come to him— but at the wrong moment. In fact, it couldn't have been more wrong. Here, he held all the cards to his hand, but the question was, to bet it all? Or be stingy, let it slide? A 'tch,' escaped from under his breath as he sat up straighter in his wooden chair, the old legs creaking as he did so, scraping against the hardwood floor. Five other men sat around him — all mostly of a hefty weight, but with jolly eyes and a laughing, jovial rumble that echoed in their throats as they watched this newcomer fret over a single move. One asked in his joking tone if he planned to make his play any time this year, to which the redhead scoffed over at him, still ignoring the barmaid that hovered at his shoulder. To play, or not to play, he wondered again, scratching his head, tousling his hair.
"Sir—" her slender finger tapping his shoulder, once, twice, before she flinching removed it, as if she had touched a hot stove, or an electrical outlet when her hand had been wet. This stranger was different, she could
feel an ungodly aura in him... but whatever she felt, the newcomer did not even notice. Finally, as if he thought it would be a good idea to send her off, he spoke offhandedly, without even looking at her, "Just some scotch," he huffed, returning back to the game, to which the barmaid gladly run off, glad to be away from that ... thing.
But as his poker playing rival clapped a hand to the stranger's shoulder, he didn't feel anything. "Play already!" he ushered, turning his head to get a sneak peak of their newly acquired friend's cards. "Play, or we won't pay for all the whiskey you've been slobberin' down since you landed yourself here! What would you do then, huh?" As he turned his head, the stranger pushed him away with a joking laugh with his free hand, back towards his own seat. While this man— nor either of the other poker players — did not know the stranger's name, they had accepted him here, into their little clique at The Harpy's Mug, where they played poker almost every night — stealing all the cash their friend had the very first day he'd came up here. Maybe you'd win it back someday, they laughed, but feeling bad, they'd pitched him and rented him out a room, free of charge.
Despite all they had done for him, the stranger would not tell his name. It was barely a name anyway... Vestige. The Heirloom. There was not a day that went by when he wondered what his real name had been.
"You see, you could call him my... property. He was meant for me, so in turn, he is mine. But... he doesn't see things that way." The Heiress looked up from her teacup, tilting her head slightly and smiling at her messenger. "Do you know what it's like, do have to run across the world, looking for someone? Well, I suppose you do, given your occupation... But it's... a slight pain... when that person is supposed to be yours. Especially when you don't have much time left."[/list]
"Shut up, I
got this," Vestige muttered, looking up at the chips he had bet, which was pretty much his whole stack, except for a few scattered ones he'd kept on his side, just in case. Slowly,
dramatically, laughing as he did so, the redhead pulled a card from the very top of the stack, eyes widening as he saw just what card he had pulled.
"It's never good when he smiles like that," one of the men groaned, shaking his head as Vestige slapped down the cards he now held in his hand. Just as the man feared, it wasn't anything good — for them.
"Four of a
Kind!" he exclaimed, looking around at all of their faces, which were painted with groans and laughs of bitter defeat as they revealed their own hands — all nothing impressive. Finally.
Finally, he had beaten these guys, and damn, it had probably been the hardest thing he'd ever done in his life. But was it really? Luck had been on his side, in a way... The redhead smiled voraciously as he gathered all of their chips up in his heads, grinning like an idiot, wondering how much money this all would add up to.
"Pay up, you cheatin' bastards," Vestige laughed, and when they did, found that he had won all his money back. Every coin, ever bill — it was all back! He should've been miserly — should've kept it to himself to buy himself a pain of pants that weren't ripped to shreds, to buy a new collar to replace the old one, who's spikes were wearing thin... but instead, he tossed it all into the air, letting it rain down from above. "Free drinks for everyone— on me!" he declared, and the barmaids came with mugs of beer and whiskey in their arms, passing them out to all their patrons, stuffing the bills down the hems of their shirts, the people laughing and cheering as they clinked their glasses with one another, dancing with their friends and guzzling down the alcohol with big smiles on their faces.
The barmaid from before came towards the redhead, no longer afraid of whatever aura she had sensed. She passed him the scotch he had asked for before, and he gripped the glass firmly, taking a large, greedy sip.
And as he let the scotch tickle his throat, Vestige paused and realized—
"My message is simple. Tell him: This is The Heiress. I am coming for you, Vestige. You can have your little vacation, and you can have your little tidbit of freedom... but soon, you will be mine. And this time, you will not be able to escape me, ever again." She smiled into her teacup, always full of smiles, always wrought with some sort of estranged happiness. With a nimble movement of her hand, she held out a closed fist towards her messenger, dumping a pile of gold coins in her hands, whispering a promise of more when the job was done. "Oh, and one more thing— you needn't be afraid of this man. While I honestly have no idea what he could be doing, or what havoc he could be wreaking...
Her smile broke a little, and it seemed more like a frown. "He really is... quite an amicable guy."[/list]
—he was happy, for the first time in his life.
