#lixin1

First of all, Astrid didn’t believe in putting collars and leashes on animals, who in her mind were the most ancient and wise of all the creatures who had come to call Obsidian City home. It was a stupid thing to do, she thought. The others in the marketplace didn’t seem to share that view, and as she walked down the busy street--blocked off for foot traffic and vendors--with a big black dog in toe twice the size of any dog she’d ever seen before, the fae and her animal consort garnered nervous and disapproving glances, which she was well versed in ignoring. 

Some people sidestepped the foreboding creature, other’s seemed tempted to reach out and touch the soft, black fur at its snout but feared losing a hand in the gesture, which was a fair enough fear to have. Astrid didn’t control the dog, and nor did she try to. She did, however, give a shout of objection when she turned away from a mesmerizing stall to find both the dog’s attention and nose deep in a stranger’s bowl of noodles. 

“Johann!” she shrilled, and the dog looked up with a noodle hanging from it’s mouth. “I am so sorry!” she insisted, hurrying over to the scene of the crime. “It’s usually the gyros I have to watch out for. He’s a real fiend for lamb, you see. And who could blame him, but-- Oh bother.” She sighed at the sight of the poor man’s luncheon massacre. Johann stared menacingly at the stranger, daring they try saying excuse me, but that was my lunch. Not anymore, it was not. Astrid remained largely unaware of the strong-arming Johann did for her in situations like these; she thought most people let them off the hook only because the dog was very handsome. 

As the train squealed to its stop at the Wailing Waters station, Sylvia was plucked from her spiraling thoughts about when last she’d made this trip back to her hometown from the city center. The city was where she spent most of her days now, even without meaning to. How long? It had been too long. That was the conclusion she’d come to. 

Beneath dark hair her head pounded in remembrance of all the fae elixirs she’d downed at the party the night before, despite her better judgment and mostly human blood. But they’d been so prettily made, and Friday nights were her peak posting hours. Effectively, she’d been paid to go to the party. Thus, she’d been paid to keep a drink in her hand and pretend she was having a good time at it. Since she wasn’t, the drinks mostly found their way to her stomach until she was having a good time. Too good a time, it turned out. 

Now she needed a soak. Granny swore by the powers of the bathhouse, and Sylvia took her Granny’s swears seriously so the bathhouse was where she went. Besides, Sylvia knew it would look good on her story and she wouldn’t have to post her face, which was bloated and without makeup. Exactly as she planned to keep it for the remainder of the day. 

Today, she felt very Sylvia. Unmasked. Her phone sat heavy at the bottom of her bag. The feeling of stepping back into her own skin was made even more powerful when the familiar face of an old friend swam into vision inside the bathhouse.

“Shh,” she warned, “quiet greetings only. This headache...” Sylvia shook her head. “Pheeeew. You’d think I’d caught a death.” They both knew she didn’t have enough banshee in her for that to be true.

The money in the envelope rattled in Orlaith’s pocket. It had been hard to shove it in, but there was no where else to put it, when she refused to carry a bag or wear a coat. At least if she did the latter she would have bigger pockets available than the tiny patch of denim it was hardly worth bothering to stitch onto women’s jeans. She’d felt irritated about that for what felt like the millionth time when she’d squeezed the envelope in earlier on her way out of the hospital. 

She hated when it was her turn to do this. Who could be good at picking a present for someone they hardly knew? But it was tradition among the nurses at St. Asclepius to do a gift when it was someone’s birthday and they took it in turns to collect the money for and choose it. Orlaith always came to the market when it was her go. The variety all laid out to see made it somewhat — but not much — simpler. Still, she was tired after an overnight shift at work and nothing was jumping out to her. She huffed a complaint to her companion. “I don’t see why flowers and a box of chocolate won’t cut it. Or wine. Every nurse likes wine! A bottle to numb a bad shift is sometimes the only cure.” She was only half joking, although wine wasn’t her drug of choice. 

Defined curls bounced down Elba’s back at the embarrassed shake of a head. But her laugh, yes, her laugh was rather infectious and electrifying. “I’ve not once won a game of keno. In my life.” Brows furrowed and knitted as one, while her eyes selected one of many strangers to direct her request, “Would you divulge the secret?”