scream 🎃🐈‍⬛

Rigor mortis will have set in by now.

“Merda, someone help that child with the body.” Master Andrea grumbles. He turns to Viago, who, alongside three other fledglings, is with him for the day for their medical studies. “Viago, go. It will be good practice.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Run along quickly now.” Master Andrea ushers him out of the room. “The rain will come soon. The humid air is bad enough – you know how she gets when she can smell them.”

Then perhaps she should not kill them so frequently, Viago thinks. He lets out a sigh, exiting the laboratory and descending the stairs. He passes a small handful of other fledglings and newly minted Crows, all watching as he makes his way to his dismal task – fledglings with a mix of sympathy and dread, Crows with a terse nod or smirk.

“First time is always the most difficult.” One Crow sighs. He stops in his tracks, turns his head to look at him.

“It is not my first time dealing with a body.”

“It will be hers.” The Crow nods towards the courtyard. “Good luck.”

As he steps out into the courtyard, he can smell the burnt grass. That woman always leaves a mess wherever she goes. Viago grumbles as he makes his way to the crying elven child in the center of the area, feels his jaw clench at what he can see of the body in her arms – large stains of dried blood across the trousers, and the small bare feet dotted with blisters and cuts.

So young.

Viago clears his throat.

“Hey.”

The little girl before him either does not hear him or ignores him. In the last six hours he’s heard some commotion – presumably other attempts at disposing of the body, but he also heard the child in hysterics. He imagines they left her to it – the more generous members of their house to allow her to mourn – to learn, while the practical among them leaving the job for some other soul to deal with.

Him. Viago sighs.

“Hey,” he says again, rounding to face her. He can’t help but grimace a little at the sight: both children covered in blood, one with her eyes wide open – a lifeless stare into the sky, the other’s filled with tears – puffy, red, and bruising. He schools his face into neutrality. “We need to burn the body.”

“No!” she cries, hunching over the body with her own, shielding her fellow fledgling from him.

“We need to burn the body before it starts to smell.” Viago grumbles, “And before she gets upset. Again.”

He heard the training session from the laboratory. He heard the way someone’s form was not to her liking, and how some girls were not as focused as others. He heard the fire being thrown, the terrified cries as the children scattered, and the whipping snap of Master Suha’s thin bamboo reed as it made contact with her girls.

One hit for a warning. Four follow in succession for disobedience or disrespect. Ten come after if she gets annoyed or offended.

Twice over he heard her strike her full set of fifteen, likely one for each fledgling. Master Suha is very exacting with her girls – “To teach them well,” she always says, and if they do not learn their lesson they may wear their shame upon their bodies for all their seniors and fellow fledglings to see.

She particularly loves to aim for the face.

Reluctantly, he gets on one knee, levelling his eyes with the crying child before him. He focuses his gaze on her eyes, forces her to look at him if only to ignore the large amount of blood coating her small frame, especially the blood smeared across her face, something more difficult to look past.

“You have not eaten all day. She will starve you if we do not get rid of the body, and leave you out here to sleep in the rain for several nights until eventually we will have to dispose of your body as well. You know this – you know her.”

A new flood of tears stream down the little girl’s face at his words. Viago does his best not to grumble yet again – he was never one for comforting others. At the very least she does not wail, instead bites her quivering lip and does her best to stay quiet as she nods, trembling. He watches as she looks down at her fellow fledgling, brushing the hair from her face and smooths it out with shaky, bloody hands. Tentatively, Viago reaches out to close the deceased’s eyes. She does not block him.

“Give her here,” Viago says, opening his arms. He really wishes he’d grabbed a spare tunic, jacket, or even an apron on the way out the lab. He’ll need to burn everything he’s wearing and scrub himself thoroughly later.

With trembling arms, the little girl moves her friend’s shoulders she’s been cradling closer to Viago, releasing her once his arms are under. He was right – her limbs are stiff now and it would be too much work to bend her into a position that’s a touch easier to carry. He struggles momentarily, unsure if he should be grateful for the small body he’s been tasked to dispose of, and wonders if he could leave the child alone for a moment to find a wheel barrel. She would likely go into hysterics at the indignity. He decides against it.

“The crematory is in the back,” he tells the little fledgling. “Come.”

As they make their way out of the courtyard, several fledglings on cleaning rotation pass them, moving in to the area they left behind.

Their walk through Villa de Riva is a quiet one, most fledglings and Crows having retreated to wherever they might go in their limited free time once lessons have concluded for the day – some out to Salle’s streets, others to their lovers’ arms, and a considerable few continue to train, study, or work. He wishes he were among the last, although the thought of leaving the child behind him alone in the courtyard with the body of her friend leaves a bad taste in his mouth. He swallows it down.

“What’s your name?” He glances down at the little girl on his heels. He does his best to hide his discomfort at her proximity.

“...Amri.”

“We’re almost there, Amri,” he tells her.

Their modest crematory, a small investment to make body disposal more efficient —and perhaps a slight show of wealth— is located in the back of Villa de Riva, connected to the equally modest smithy that was built for special interests and experimentation, though he’s heard talk of expanding the space. Several Crows and studious fledglings continue to work alongside hired blacksmiths as the sun sets. They nod wordlessly at the two of them as they pass.

“Viago.” Alessandra, House de Riva’s primary undertaker, comes out to greet him, bringing a stretcher with her. Viago lays the body down and follows Alessandra’s lead, carrying it past the threshold. “And this is?”

“Amri,” Viago answers for her, the little girl jumps at the mention of her name, tucking herself behind him. She’s likely never met Alessandra, unsure of what to make of the woman.

Alessandra offers Amri a sympathetic smile before she begins to work quietly, only sparing some words to Viago to run through the instructions on preparing the body with him again. Amri hovers behind him, thankfully enough out of his way, but he catches her approaching the body of her friend several times, grasping at her own hands, unsure of what to do with herself before moving farther away again.

Once they’ve finished, Alessandra turns to the elf.

“You’ve been very brave, Amri. I’m so sorry for your loss,” Alessandra says, kneeling to meet the little girl’s eyes. “We can give you a moment alone with her, if you’d like.”

Amri looks at Viago, evidently seeking some sort of permission. Perhaps she assumes he has some authority over her. He should tell her to say no, to simply watch, to hold her chin higher and honour her friend, and that a Crow does not allow their emotions to overtake them.

But between himself and House de Riva’s generous undertaker, he nods in the direction of her friend, and she takes slow steps toward her one last time, looking back at him with either fear or something he can't quite place. He can hear her start to sniffle.

She will learn from this, as difficult as it is.

Alessandra leads him outside and closes the door behind them.

“That woman.” She sighs. “I swear she puts more girls in that furnace faster than she buys them.”

Viago grits his teeth, turns his gaze elsewhere and listens between the sound of hammers and clanging metal, and hears the cries of the little girl in the other room. She did not kill this one, he wants to say, but thinks better of it.

From his spot in the laboratory that morning, from its open window, he heard her. He heard how Master Suha scolded them, accused them of being more preoccupied with playing Crows rather than wanting to be Crows. He heard her command them to face each other in a single match to the end, or she would finish their training there herself.

He heard the begging of whom he now knows is Amri, imploring for forgiveness. He heard her terrified sobs and pleading as he can only imagine her friend turning on her. He heard the sound of their blades clashing, cries for a Mina, the name of the other fledgling, to stop. For a moment he heard absolutely nothing but the sound of Master Suha’s expensive shoes step through something wet, and then echo through the villa as she walked away, ending the lesson.

Then he heard little Amri scream and cry for hours.