Trudging towards the shop is painful. The ache around my chest is slowly dulling, but the nerves of having to actually confront her fill me with more panic than the angry shouts ever could. But seeing the familiar street, seemingly separate from the chaos just around the corner, is nice. Calm. Safe.
Truth be told, saying den is a bit much. It's just the first word that comes to mind after seeing the dusty sign hanging above an entrance to an even more dusty cellar. The walls were lined with polished pieces of brass fashioned in a spiral pattern. It's funny to consider Gerda as a bear, though, which is why - I think - the name stuck.
Walking down those stairs feels more and more like a sentence. Each step brings me closer to the one thing I don't want to see. Each step brings more and more pain to the burning ribs. The glittering ornaments reflect sunlight directly onto the shabby door, which has already creaked open. It gets musty in there.
The door swings open with a crack, bolts grinding against stone hinges. The shrill sound of a bell splits the air. I'll have to be smart about this.
The cellar is dim, air filled with that characteristic dampness that spreads from the river to the whole quarter. Every day, knick-knacks litter the various shelves and corners of the room, placed in wobbly, makeshift piles that threaten to reach the ceiling. They all fell over once when the steel tried to blow open the doors to the Covenant on the other side of town.
"C'mon, girl, I know your steps. No need to let the cold in," says a gruff voice from behind the racks, with that characteristic, drawn-out lilt that shows whenever she's pissed. Great. That'll go well.
Stepping to the counter is a challenge of its own. Walking over dirty cogs and half-folded blankets haphazardly thrown on the floor is rough on a good day. This is not one of those. I’ll have to explain myself somehow - “a good thief is never seen and a bad one is dead”. Or whatever. Guess I’m defying all expectations today. At last, I managed to approach the counter.
She's there, as always. Just another tiny, old lady from the Gutters, but at the same time so different. She could be someone's grandma if not for the deep frown on her face, twisting it in a focused, unpleasant grimace. Eyes squinting, she puffs her pipe.
Our eyes meet as she pushes back a stray lock of mousy, greying hair back into the tight bun. She could pass for one of those dainty dancers in the Upper Square’s Opera House, maybe in another life.
There's something piercing in her eyes as if she were looking at another knick-knack. That’s appraising at its finest. Shame she’s appraising me of all things.
"Got you good this time, hm?" Gerda asks as her frown deepens, "Anything falling off?"
I dodge away from her hand with some difficulty, a sharp pang of pain tugging at my back. She worries too much. It’s not like she didn’t give me worse beatings than this. It hurts still, pretending to care after spilling everything about me to Him.
Schooling my face is more problematic than I would have liked.
"You should've seen the other guy" The forced half-grin splits my face. Let's hope it's enough to get her off the subject. She can probably see through it anyway. Always could. Graciously, she changes the subject, "So? Anything good?"
"Eh, nothing much. Just the usual," I say, pulling out the fancy ashtray from the bag.
"Good," she murmurs in response. "I just had someone looking for one of those" With a tilt of her head, Gerda continues ", might fetch a pretty sum for this"
Bullshit. It looks better than all those other ones collecting dust near the edges of the room, but I wouldn't go that far. Not to mention that she’s been low-balling me for months. Something's up.
"If you say so", leaves my mouth quickly, as usual. I learned long ago not to argue with her when it comes to appraisal. The old nag about ‘appreciate the one who taught you everything’ closely followed by ‘respect your elders or I’ll take off those slippers and remind you who’s right around here’. She has a pair of dirty, wooden ones. I haven’t seen her wear them once. They’re weird and painful. Full on disgusting.
"I do." Her words are final, as usual. She slides the coins down the counter. Half now, half after it sells. Typical. The silver coins stand out against the dark wood, shimmering in the low light. I haven’t seen one of those since the beginning of summer. It’s as much a confirmation as I can get - something's definitely up, but I need a confirmation. To know it’s not a dream. I stuff the leather pouch lining the inside of the bag with my earnings as my fingers brush against the mask.
"See, I found something a little extra", I begin carefully. Gerda's eyes light up, always eager to make more. She gestures impatiently with the pipe, rushing. Hell, it's now or never. "Maybe you've seen something like this before?" I grip the mask tightly as I pull it out of the bag. My hand shakes as it threatens to slip from the grasp of my sweat-covered hands.
She's scary when she's mad. Always was. Face cold, twisted in an angry grimace like a brewing storm. This time is different. She is perfectly still, and her body taunts like a string about to snap. Her face takes on a weird, purple hue as her eyes fill with pure, unfiltered hatred. She lunges at me much too quickly for an old lady. Her knuckles turn white when she grips the mask.
"Where did you get this?" she barks out, accusatory and begins tugging it towards herself.
"I told you - I just found something extra" It's a fight, trying to keep the mask in my hands. Was she always so strong?
"Do you have any idea how much trouble this could bring?!" She pulls at it again. "You'll have the Steels sniffing here for months!"
"They're sniffing anyway! And don't try to deflect - you sold me out!" My voice strains with desperation. She wasn't supposed to be the one to do this. Not ever.
"You idiot! I told you to never go for an open glass!" Droplets of spit land on my cheek. Her face changed colours again, going deathly white, "You're going back and returning it this instant!"
It's like time stopped for a moment. The mask slips from my hand, muscles giving out. A look of surprise crosses Gerda's face, eyebrows shooting up. It falls to the ground. The most beautiful thing I've ever seen shatters before my eyes. My knees buckle, and before I can react, pain shoots up from my knees. The pieces blur before my eyes, veiled by unshed tears. How could she? How dare she do this?! That weird tightness surrounds my chest again, threatening to burst. I can’t-. I don’t want to hold it in.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?! I wanted to give it back!" I didn't. I really didn't. It was supposed to be mine.
A bony hand rests on my shoulder, but I slap it away. No. Not after this. She can't try to be all nice after this. She deserves it after-
"What will you do now?" a quiet, resigned voice asks, so unlike her. It stops the seething voice inside me as the truth surfaces - I don't know what to do. The only opportunity to backtrack lies shattered before me. I don't have a choice. Not anymore. I start picking up the pieces, carefully arranging them.
"He-" a sniffle escapes from me as I place the broken mask inside the bag, "He gave me this". The parchment weighs heavily in my hand as I pull it out, "said some kind of a ticket." "Give it here", Gerda says, reaching out an expecting hand, "I won't tear it. I swear." She looks earnest enough. Too earnest. But there’s no room for more doubts, and it's not like I can read it for myself, anyway. The paper slips from my grasp slowly as I place it in her hand. She glances over it.
"'s a ticket all right", a mutter escapes her lips, echoing around the silent room, "but it looks like a one-way trip, with how he is"
There it is. All the confirmation I needed. It was her all along—all this time.
"You know him? Capitano?" So there's hope. Maybe I can learn something.
When I lift my head to look at her, all I can see is this weird, almost blank face.
"More of him than him, yes." Her words halt for a good second, "But nothing good ever comes off that thing" She drops the parchment back into my hand. It’s comforting, in a sense. At least one thing isn’t in pieces right now.
"What do you mean?" My head tilts on its own, curious. What trouble could a band of circus actors bring?
"They travel around and put on shows, that's true,” Gerda says, leaning back on the counter," but they've got The Orchids tailing them like hounds. Drawing this kind of attention is never a good thing."
Interesting. Why would a bunch of nuns follow around a circus? It makes little sense. Maybe I could learn more from Him if He'll see me. Even with the mask all mucked up. Maybe I could fix it? The deal should stand even if it’s broken, right? Let’s just hope that, despite this, maybe he could help me escape this place. See something more than the Gutters. Be someone more. I don’t want to be like Tommy. I don’t want to die here. Gerda always said to try to make the best of whatever situation I’m in - she’ll understand. I’m sure.
This thought emboldens me enough to ask.
"But- It could be fun, right? Just travelling around," My breath shakes a little when I stand up, "Performing? Flying in front of an audience," I do my best to imitate a bird and top it off with an exaggerated bow, like He did - not too deep but with a flourish. "That would be something" A smile stretches my lips at the thought.
In another life, Gerda would be one of them. Cracking jokes on the market, teaching me… whatever they do out there instead of stealing.
"Yeah, right," she huffs a quiet laugh. "I don't think that's for you", she continues with a smile like the mere thought of me being something else is ridiculous. Like it’s a joke. Surely that’s not it.
"Oi, why not? I'm good on the roofs; I'm sure I could learn a thing or two-" The joke is forced, and with every part of my being, I hope that she indulges me. Let me pretend just for a moment.
"Don't delude yourself, girl." Her tone cuts right into my heart, "You're just another Gutters kid, nothing more."
Oh.
Oh.
Tears start flowing down my cheeks freely; all I can taste is salt filling the back of my throat.
That's how it is. That's all I am to her - just another starving rat. Ratling. Nothing special.
Capitano's voice echoes in my head, taunting, "We could make you an artist", he said. "We could make you fly". At this moment, all I want is to fly, fly far away from this place. The blood in my veins starts to boil, a strange sort of anger possessing me.
"So this is what you really think of me? Just another kid?" I spit out through tears. Nothing more. I'm nothing more? I'll show her just how wrong she is to think that. I can see her lips moving, but the sounds escape me. Good. I don't want to hear it.
I'm halfway through the room, bag hanging from my shoulder when a shout interrupts me mid-step
"Dahlia!" The words sound out, pleading. So unlike Gerda. Right. That's my name. "Dahlia, wait! They'll bury you! Alive!"
I steal a glance back at her - She's crying as I walk through the door.
Good.
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Sooo... I kind of forgot to post the fourth scene to Tumblr haha. AANYWAY - the Gerda confrontation is here, I hope you liked it : )
