Hollow

Chapter 20: Foolish

After another day of hiding in his room, Llwell realized he should probably toughen up and finally go talk to Thylle. He figures the longer he waits to see them, the angrier they will be when he eventually shows up. At least he knows they have been staying at the tavern, so he can find comfort in knowing there would be witnesses if they decide to kill him once he steps through the door.

He steels himself with a deep breath as he approaches the tavern. Stopping at the door, he glances around for possibly Etho or maybe Rosanhi or Dumaine who might have some important job for him to do at a moment's notice, but alas it seems he's on his own.

Cautiously, he enters the tavern by slowly pushing the door in. He takes one step inside, and the next thing he knows he's dodging out of the way as a knife imbeds itself in the wall beside him. The blade just soared past his shoulder, he's damn lucky it didn't take his ear off.

Llwell quickly turns to see Thylle reclined back on a barstool with a bottle of ale in one hand and another knife spinning around in their other. They watch him with a piercing glare as they take a long drink.

The bartender leans forward on the counter behind them and clears her throat. "Hey, pointy. No knife-throwing in my tavern. You're scaring the patrons—"

Thylle doesn't bother looking over their shoulder as they just smash the empty bottle over the barkeep's head, causing a group of settlers to gasp and rush out the door, scurrying past Llwell.

He sighs and walks over, and the bartender brushes bits of glass off her head while pointing to the door and glaring at Thylle. "That's it! You're barred! Hollow, get your friend out of here!" she demands.

Llwell holds up his hand and calmly nods. "I apologize for the trouble, Amra. I'll take care of this," he says and turns to Thylle. They don't move from the stool nor do they stop spinning their knife. "Thylle, it's time to go."

The other elf scowls up at him. "No," they simply say and look away stubbornly.

Llwell crosses his arms. "Come on, Thylle. You're making a scene."

They snicker. "Oh, am I? I thought they were all just fawning over the great and powerful 'Hollow' and flocking to kneel before you, and you being the righteous and compassionate heroine you are, you would see to every last one of their needs before turning around and realizing 'Oh yeah, the world is still burning in a great big pile of shit! Maybe I should do something about that!'" they slur and wave their knife around carelessly before lifting the broken end of the bottle still in their hand and attempting to take a drink. They huff at the broken bottle and throw it across the room and it shatters against the wall.

"I hate ale," they balk. "What's a guy gotta do to get a good drag o' rum around here?"

"Thylle," Llwell snaps.

"What?" they drunkenly look at him with a glazed-over grimace.

Llwell sighs again and grabs their arm, pulling them to their feet but in protest, they let their body fall limp to the ground and stab their knife into the wooden floorboards.

He groans and closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose against a growing headache. He has to look on the bright side, at least they haven't actively tried to kill him yet. Once he's gotten himself composed, he reaches down and grabs them by their ankle before literally dragging them out the door.

He lets them go once outside and he shuts the tavern door, reaches into the closest snowbank, and drops a handful of snow on the drunken elf's face.

They sit up instantly and wipe their eyes. "Corvaas! I fuckin' hate this stuff! Matrons-damned white sky ice powder. How do humans live with this shit?"