The two cargo wagons parked in the center of town had a handful of caretakers looking after the water buffalo responsible for pulling their wagons. Again, they are receiving the royal treatment—brushings, patdowns, and what looked to be a careful inspection of their hooves. Besides the workers' simple travel clothes, the only other folks around clearly not from Waldonton are a few mercenary sorts.
The wagon’s guards are easy to tell apart from anyone else. Their mismatching armor and weapons set them apart. Waldonton’s guards at least share a vaguely uniform style; their shirts are dyed half red and half green. Curiously, these caravan guards didn’t look very much like any of the Hunters I’ve seen before.
Naming the exact difference between a Hunter and a mercenary guard for hire is difficult to say. When I first saw Liv, she was clearly a Hunter, and not just a simple sword for hire, or axe for hire, I guess. Mercenary guards are perhaps less pretentious, in a way. Or maybe it’s better to say your average mercenary guard is more focused on utility and less on how good their equipment looks.
We Hunters, as humorous as it is to think about, like to add a little something for fun, for style.
Would Liv be better off if her arms were covered in some kind of protection? Yeah, but then she couldn’t show off her swirling black and blue tattoos. Do Deirdre’s wrist guards and leather chest protector need to have fancy green stitching? No, absolutely not, but it looks good.
I certainly want to level up my outfit when I get the chance. So far, I am leaning into the whole robe thing, as suggested by Deirdre. My navy blue robe with the gray trim is warm and comfortable. Plus, it has extra pockets, making it way better than just the trousers and tunic top I used to sport.
“They’re swamped,” remarks Deirdre, and after a moment of following her gaze, I spot what she’s talking about. Standing off to the side, surrounded by townies, must be a man from the wagons. Judging by the attention, it ought to be their principal trader.
With a sigh, Deirdre sashays away. “I’ve got it.” Her abrupt departure leaves Liv and I standing around. It may take her a minute to get a word in through the crowd, but with any luck, they will be interested in buying some of our loot.
After a minute of watching the scrum play out, Liv looks like she is growing bored. A goofy grin spreads across her face.
“A little extra coin is great in the short term, but if you really want to save some money, you’ll just have to shack up with your girlfriend,” she says in a friendly but mocking tone.
“Yeah,” I reply casually.
Liv looks like a cat that caught the canary at that. In slow motion, she raises an eyebrow and waits. Maybe she thinks I may have had an accidental Freudian slip and will realize it at any minute. I haven't, of course; there's just no reason to deny Deirdre and me having something going on any longer. I do feel a slight creep of embarrassment climbing up my neck. Not for any reason, just because of the subject matter.
Stupid devil body, I was never this easy to make blush on Earth.
Despite being a tad flustered, I stare back at her.
“What?” I state, daring her to comment.
“You’re just admitting it now? Aw, that's no fun,” Liv says, her eyebrow dropping.
“No point in pretending,” I explain. “I have no idea how to talk to her about it, though.”
Liv, dropping the teasing act, mumbles for a second before giving a thoughtful hum.
“Think she won’t like the idea then?”
Do I think she’ll be against it? No, not exactly. It’s complicated.
“Not exactly; she is… particular but also open to a lot of things. Could be tricky, you’ve seen how clean and organized her place is.”
I’m mostly worried about invading her space. She lives in a one-bedroom apartment; there is nowhere to go if you want to be alone. Ideally, we’d share something bigger and have places to be alone if we needed it. Finding something bigger would mean more money, which goes against the entire point. Except, the entire point isn’t to just save money. If we’re going to pursue this, relationship, the togetherness isn’t just a bonus; it’s a feature.
“Yeah, bit of a clean freak that one,” replies Liv, but there is no malice in it; she says it lightly.
“I just need to sit down and have a long conversation with her about it.”
Out ahead in the crowd, it looks like maybe Deirdre is managing a stunted back and forth with the trader. The throng of people around her isn’t helping. As short as she is, she isn’t short enough to use it as a sort of advantage, like simply running under everyone’s legs.
“Course we could all go in on a multi-bedroom place and really save some money."
Oh goodness.
Liv speaking those words into existence so casually is like a knife to my chest. I was trying so hard not to think about her as anything other than a teammate today. She had to ruin that by casually, offhandedly, floating us all just moving in together as roommates. The jerk. The absolute jerk. If I have to consider her being a roommate, then I have to come to terms with whatever feelings I do or don’t have for her first. That topic is a can of worms that absolutely cannot be unleashed any time soon.
Liv stares me down as the silence grows between us. “Earth to Evelyn?”
For whatever reason, this is a hundred times worse than when she was trying to get a rise out of me on purpose. Once again, I’m thankful my light red skin tone perfectly conceals any sort of blush, because I can feel it coming on as a flurry of emotions scramble for purchase in my thoughts.
Liv looks amused, smirking my way. I should say something. I didn’t reply to her, but now it’s been too long. Or is it worse if I don’t say anything?
We obviously can’t be roommates. That would be disastrous. Deirdre would do or say something scandalous and incriminating that Liv would eventually pick up on, and then it would be so awkward I’d die. I haven't even told Deirdre that I would be theoretically okay with the concept of her having another girlfriend beside myself.
Deirdre can’t catch wind of Liv’s passing suggestion. Salvation comes in the form of the halfling herself. Her return from the mass of people surrounding the wagon’s proprietor is quick. Anyone who didn’t know Deirdre well wouldn’t notice, but I can see the agitation in the way she walks.
Liv is the first to question her. “How’d it go?”
A shake of her head is her first answer, which is quickly followed by a more detailed explanation.
“No dice. They’re willing to buy, of course, but only if they can rob us blind. Wouldn’t budge, even on the common Monster parts.” Deirdre's tone is steady but still chock-full of reluctant acceptance.
Not the news we wanted to hear, but a common enough result around town. This just isn’t the place to fruitfully sell the teeth, claws, and other Monster bits from the slain creatures. The magic that accumulates in those parts of the beasts makes them as strong as steel and extremely valuable for alchemists and enchanters to break down for their dense magical residue. Offloading our good loot in Waldonton just isn't going to happen. It’s like a car salesman trying to sell sports cars in the countryside, wrong target demographic.
Maybe if we ran into an actual Monster parts trading endeavor, they’d be willing to buy at an acceptable margin. The random traveling merchants we've dealt with so far just don’t have the wherewithal to buy monster bits on their travels and turn a profit with them in the future, unless they gouge us, of course.
“Right, so we’ve got to choose a prospective councilmember to invite in on our outpost,” I muse both to the group and to myself.
“How about that caravan guy? They’re the best option, yeah? A deal to sell our excess meat and loot would go a good way towards making the outpost and the soup kitchen self-sufficient,” Liv details. Her assessment does have merit to it.
I don’t even need to check my notes to remember his name.
“Dorian Mohsen, but I don’t know where to find him,” I reply. It remains unclear what exactly the man does, but it involves both tack and trade.
"I do," Deirdre adds, "east side of town, pair of massive stables."
Liv is quick to confirm, "I've seen those stables. Before now, I never spent longer than a night in this town, but a pair of large stables on the edge of town was where we overnighted the pack animals each time I passed through."
A few shared looks around our group confirm our agreement, and we're off. Deirdre takes out in front, leading the way.
***
A large sign dominates one wall ahead of us. 'Tack and Trade' it reads. The stables Deirdre and Liv spoke of are two very long buildings, joined by an awning to create an expansive 'L' shape structure. It's clear that a large part of the building is dedicated to housing pack animals. A few of the barn-sized doors stand open to reveal workers, who scurry to and fro. If I wasn't keenly aware that a sick or injured animal is at risk for monsterization, I would call the number of people watching over the water buffalos and camels boardering on excessive.
As excessive as it all appears, it also looks like this place is a den of well orchestrated chaos. Carts, wagons, and carriages are parked in various locations; none look to be in the process of loading or unloading, but that might just be because sunset is in less than an hour. Sacks and hay bales are making their way inside the section of building housing the animals, likely to restock for the evening. The workers look very practiced in their art, passing their burdens back and forth and moving on to their next task. Completely out of place, there are also a few racks of spears scattered about, though I suppose that might be necessary in the event of the worst-case scenario.
Our walk forward goes uninterrupted. When Deirdre falters, looking for where we ought to head next, Liv steps in and nods her head toward the end of one of the buildings.
"I think those are offices. We should start there," she states, not confidently but with levity.
"Sounds good; I'll do the talking." Answers Deirdre, which just about goes without saying. When in doubt, Deirdre is our go-to spokesperson. Not that any of us seem very suited to the role of party negotiator.
The room we walk into looks the part of a small hub. A hallway branches off, leading away in one direction, and a series of doors, half closed and half open, surround the room. Like a dentist's lobby, there are chairs lining the walls and a center desk where some form of receptionist might usually sit. The room is empty, but there are muffled voices coming from a corner office.
To my left, Liv's ear twitches, and I consider once again just how good her hearing really is.
If that's the advantage of a wolven body, what did I get for my devilish body?
The door we opened to get inside shuts behind us, nudging a bell attached to it, which filled the room with a soft jiggle. Deirdre's approach to the empty counter ends awkwardly, with nobody for her to speak with. She turns and waits for whatever is going on in that corner office to conclude.
In growing volume, the sounds of a stifled but rising voice carries into our entry room. I make out 'arrangements' 'shouldn't take so long' and 'get it done' in a dark, angry tone just before a woman scurries out of the corner office and towards our location. The poor woman looks shaken, and the demi-human butterfly wings she has draping behind her like a cape shudder in a way I've seen before that I think means distress.
While the three of us stand, trying not to make the situation any more awkward, the Tack and Trade employee hastens to the center island reception desk and latches onto a stack of papers like they're a lifeline.
"How can I help you?" she manages, putting on a brave face.
Deirdre, bless her, pushes forward professionally in a way that I'm sure helps set the woman at ease. "My associates and I would like to discuss a business opportunity with Mr. Mohsen. If you could take a message and pass it along, or if he is still working, ask if he'll see us, that would be ideal."
I don't believe for a second that Deirdre has that much innate respect for the man, but she comes off as okay in a business sense. If we can schedule a meeting and plan for it, then I would volunteer myself to give our pitch, since that's actually something I'm experienced with. When it comes to more spontaneous conversations, Deirdre is still the best we've got.
The woman behind the counter asks for a few details: our names, what we wish to speak about, and where to find us. As Deirdre highlights a few important pieces of our proposal, the woman begins to bite her lip, clearly beginning to feel apprehensive. It's possible she didn't bargain for us giving a sudden, long-winded spiel about a local building project. Likely, she figured we'd want to rent a few carts or charter a delivery of some kind, simple and standard stuff. Without finishing the high-level concept of the outpost and what we're suggesting as the business proposal, the woman interrupts.
"Just one moment." Her fleet steps take her back towards the door she retreated from a few minutes ago, ghosting silently across the polished wooden floor. Next, her demure knock at the door barely registers, but it's enough for a loud retort from inside. Without even opening the entryway door fully, she slips back inside, leaving us alone once again. A tentative look around with my companions confirms that none of us are exactly thrilled with our course of events. Liv wears a deep frown plastered on her face for the whole world to see. She pretty much always wears her emotions on her sleeves, or lack of sleeves, I suppose. Meanwhile, Deirdre is doing her best impression of a statue. For Deirdre, it is the most subtle tells that give away her feelings. The slight crease of her eyes barely narrowing probably indicates she's as suspicious and uncomfortable as the rest of us.
A rippling of purple and blue, functionless but ascetically pleasing butterfly wings shoot back through the door after another excruciating minute of silent waiting. The woman stops standing, ramrods straight, hands folding around themselves in front of her.
"Mr. Mohsen would like to speak with you."
Time and day doesn't really change much for me as I basically check every day and I like this story enough to read every chapter as they come out. Can't wait when they start trading blows with the council.
The council is just the worst, honestly.
looking for we ought to head next,
look for where we ought to head next?
I'll do that talking." Answers Deirdre,
I'll do the talking?
Why am I like this
thank you!
@Slyfox00 You are a writer excited about their story and sharing it, everything is fine.
@Talmus
so true