I was sitting at my usual table in the Hanging Sailor, drinking my morning meal, when a hip covered in tight black leather caught my attention. Hips stuck right under your nose have a way of doing that.
It was a shapely hip, and the leather showed it off to good advantage, but if I’d had a choice I’d have left right then, before all the trouble. If I had a choice. Which I didn’t.
“Geez, Mace, you look like hell. Not sleeping well, lately?”
That’s me, by the way; Mason Starkweather. ‘Mace’ to my friends. Or to anyone else, for that matter.
My eyes followed the shapely hip up to a well-rounded torso, also in black leather with lots of laces here and there. Then they continued up until they rested on a heart-breakingly beautiful face framed in curls the color of summer wheat. If my gaze lingered a little here and there on the way up, it was partly because I was appreciating the scenery. But mostly it was because I was having trouble focusing.
“Hey, Shiv, how’s it going? Want some breakfast?” I tilted the bottle in her direction.
Her brows furrowed slightly; she didn’t much like the name Shiv. I knew that; if I’d been any kind of a gentleman, I wouldn’t’ve used it. But no one ever accused me of being gentlemanly, and I wasn’t feeling particularly kind at that moment. If Shiv was here, it could only mean bad luck. And I hadn’t finished my breakfast, yet.
“It’s the middle of the afternoon, Mace,” she said.
“I’m a late riser,” I responded.
Her full name, which she preferred, was Shiavona. Shiavona Morganstern, if you can believe that. Yeah, I know; what a handle, huh? But those of us who had occaision to interact with her usually just referred to her as ‘Shiv’. It was an appropriate nickname—especially after you got to know her.
“Strawman wants to see you,” she announced matter-of-factly. Just like that, like she was reporting the weather, or something.
“Yeah? Well I don’t particularly want to see him.” I returned my attention to the bottle, which was not as full as I would have liked. Too bad I’d spent my last coin for it.
I was trying to figure out where I could get some money to buy another bottle when the point of a stilletto thunked into the table next to my glass. “We can do this one of two ways, Mace. He didn’t say I had to bring you in one piece.”
Well, I didn’t think it would work, anyway. The Strawman wasn’t especially interested in my preferences. Never had been, never would be. “Okay. I gotta go to the head, first. I’ll meet you outside.”
She nodded once, replaced the stilletto wherever she’d gotten it from (where could she possibly hide it, in that outfit? I wondered idly) and slithered away through the crowd like a python moving through tall grass. The regulars watched her go out of the corners of their eyes, but nobody said anything or made any move to interrupt her leaving. In this part of Arconia, they all knew her – or knew of her – too.
She knew I wasn’t going to slip away through a back door, either. That would only give her an excuse to do what she probably would have enjoyed doing, anyway. And I’m not fond of pain, and I like having all of my fingers.
I emptied the bottle without bothering to use the glass, then got up and headed for the loo. Nobody lives forever, I guess.
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Thread: It was a Dark and Stormy Knight
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