#ofgil

     He is taking this ewer and giving it the home it deserves.

But he stands in the middle of them. 

[🌹]  She wasn’t at the bar on business.  In fact, she had no plans to interfere or mingle.  This was just a night to relax and feel the tinge of consolidation within her glass.  What should have just been a simple question, with an equally simple response took another route.  And at her neighbor’s stammering, Beatrix sat the drink down.

   Words were carefully considered.  Obviously that scar’s story held some form of pain.  Discomfort.  “Forgive me if I intruded upon a memory best forgotten.”  Painted nails tapped at the worn down counter.  “Each scar has a story, and as such a reminder of a wound, there was always something-- or someone to inflict that pain.”

   Without a word, Beatrix removed some gil from a hidden pocket, and set it on the counter to buy him another ale.

❝ uh… H…i… ❞ He’s…backing away.

     YO –!  HEY,  IT’S  ALMOST  LIKE  THE  LAST  TIME  HE  SAW  YOU,  you  ejected  Rhys  from  the  sanctuary  of  your  home  and  let  loose  two  critical  hostages  that  were  set  for  torture  and  trade;  remember  that?  He  does.  

     HE  FIRES  A  VILE  ′ Can  I  HELP  you? ′  in  the  treasure  hunter’s  direction  (  head  quirked  to  the  side  with  a  mean  tenacity,  long  nails  tap!  tap!  tapping!  the  side  of  his  cheek  )  —  truly  contemplating,  as  was  clearly  gathered,  putting  a  knife  through  the  chest  of  Alleyway  Jack.