The rhythmic sound of a knife chopping through vegetables carried through the kitchen as a lone figure worked tirelessly at her cutting board. She lost herself in her work while she tried to ignore the crippling sense of doubt that stole throughout her body.

How long had it been? It was already far longer than the single day that he promised, and yet there was no word of him.

Sonja refused to look away from the vegetables that she chopped in a quick mechanical manner. Inside her head, however, her thoughts whirled and raced. Was he lying hurt somewhere? Was he dead? Did he simply abandon her and go elsewhere?

Dreamers were notorious for their sudden permanent disappearances. Whatever reason they had for entering this world, once that reason was met they rarely returned.

Her face an ice cold mask of food preparatory confidence, she would allow no one to know of the complicated emotions hiding beneath her cool exterior. The fact that she did not know the truth of the matter was the worst part of it all.

A slight tremor ran along her face. It started from her perfect pink lips then traveled along her cheek to make her left eye twinge slightly. He better not come back! If he came to the Inn right now she would stab him for breaking his promise. What could one expect from a human, anyway?

As time went on, Sonja's vegetable cutting became slightly aberrant. She chopped with greater ferocity and zeal. Special joy was taken whenever she had to cut apart a cucumber.

"Bastard," she said quietly, her icy emotional mask still in place. "I'll kill you..."

A slight quiver came to her lips, but she fought it off with a huff. She refused to feel anything for someone who could not keep a promise. Live or dead, a promise was a promise!

Violent thoughts entered her mind. First, she would cut off his arms and legs. Next she would split open his rib cage like a hog being fit for the grill. Once the internal organs were removed she would hang the meat to let the blood drain.

"Shall I make some fresh pulled pork for tomorrow's special?" she grumbled loudly.

"I could use some of that," said a soft masculine voice.

Sonja's hand froze mid-motion. Her knife trembled slightly for some reason, though clearly her hand itself was not trembling. It was nothing more than a trick of the light or the peculiarities of foolish eyes that would cause someone to think such a thing.

She took a deep breath then allowed it to slowly escape her lips. Her facial expression cold, and her anger a thing of frozen beauty, she turned in preparation for the coming of tomorrow's pulled pork special. However, after she did turn and saw the state of him her eyes widened.

Blackthorne wore strange clothing with no sign of his armor, or weapons. On his back he sported a strange backpack, but most notably of all his visible flesh was a mass of hideous bruises and deep gashes.

"What...?" asked Sonja, her knife nearly slipping from her hand.

He offered her a soft smile through his cracked lips then said, "Sorry I took so long."

"I..." She did not know what to say at the moment. His appearance was so bizarre. "Your eyes are red..."

"Are they?" asked Blackthorne with a sigh. "Some things have happened. At any rate, if you still want it I'll finish paying off your debt now..."

She gripped her knife tightly for a moment, a desire to stab him rising quickly within her. "Where have you been, you idiot!"

His eyes softened. The intense red glow faded somewhat and her shook his head. "That is a long story, and not one I plan to share publicly. If you want me to keep my promise, I can tell you afterward."

"It's been nearly five days..." she said in an accusing tone.

"That long? Really?" he asked quietly. Blackthorne shook his head. "I'm lucky to be here at all, to be honest."

Every inch of her body screamed at her in its desire to demand answers, but the way he spoke made it seem that he would not give them to her unless they completed their contract. "If you want to keep your promise, I am certainly ready. Though, I owe my current owner enough to finish my shift."

Blackthorne nodded then told her that he would go finalize things with Scraggles. "See you soon, Sonja. I have a lot to tell you about."

"Yes. Of course," she said in flat tone of voice. Sonja turned away from him as though she wished to end the conversation. Her face maintained its emotionless nature.

"I missed you, too," he said softly before he turned away.

Sonja did not stop her work, and for a time her expressionless mask held up. After a short few seconds, however, her lips began to quiver. Slowly, a soft smile appeared alongside a slight sparkle in her eyes. Pork might still be on the menu for the morrow, but it would not be at the Screaming Onion Tavern.

By the time her work shift ended, Blackthorne's injuries were completely healed. He no longer looked like someone had chosen to drag him behind a galloping horse across the country.

Scraggles look to Sonja then to Blackthorne. "The money has been paid, but we need to transfer ownership. Are you both ready?"

They looked to each other then nodded to Scraggles. He bid Sonja to climb up on the counter. Her customary lack of clothing, save for an apron, proved helpful to the cause when Scraggles pricked his finger with a needle then allowed a drop of his blood to drip down onto her lower back.

"Reveal the contract," he said in an authoritative tone.

A series of arcing lines appeared on her lower back, just above her ass. In a position some might call a tramp stamp, a sigil designed like brambles made of lightning arose from her tailbone. It rounded the curvature of her ass and spread out like wings.

"I, the master of this servant, hereby relinquish my claim to the one who shall claim her," said Scraggles. He looked to Blackthorne then handed him the needle. "Drip a little blood on her back."

Blackthorne tried to prick his finger then sighed when the needle bent. Scraggles looked at him for a moment then snorted. "It'll cost another few hundred Jerin, but I have a needle that causes bleeding status as a rule..."

"Fine. Thank you," said Blackthorne.

Scraggles went to his nearby desk and pulled out the biggest needle Blackthorne had ever seen. "Are you sure that's not a railroad spike."

"Railroad?" asked Scraggles. "No, this is Piercer. It's a needle I used to use when I fought high defense opponents. Give me a moment to remove the poison status."

"Poison?" asked Blackthorne dubiously.

"That's why I have to charge you. That poison isn't free, you know." Scraggles cleaned his needle thoroughly then looked to Blackthorne. Ready?

"Yes. Sorry," he replied. Blackthorne held out his hand and Scraggles jabbed the tip of his finger. A few drops of blood spattered down atop Sonja's lower back and the sigil began to glow brightly.

Blackthorne did not hesitate. He most certainly did not want to switch out his professional title!

"So, is that it?" he asked Scraggles.

"Yes, the ceremony is complete. Jackie belongs to you," said the tavern owner. "Treat her well now."

"I'll do my best," said Blackthorne.

Sonja grunted. "Don't I get a say in the matter?"

"Why would you?" asked Scraggles lightly.

Sonja glared at him then muttered something about pork cutlets and pulled pork sandwiches. She followed it up with a chopping motion, though she did not have her knife.

The men shared a chuckle as Sonja sat up. It was an awkward sort of situation, but it bore itself out well.