Anachronistic: Endless Masquerade

2 | The Witch From Eden

- 2 -

        Pandora heated the bayonet at the end of her gun to a glowing red in the fire, then held it to the tip of her cigarette. It smoldered to life and she took a long drag. That should hold the shakes at bay for a few more hours. At least the ones caused by graft failure. A cigarette couldn't do anything against the horrible Britannian weather that had soaked her through and ruined her matches. And since it left her to improvise a light it may have ruined the hardness of her blade as well.

        "You have any extras, girlie?" muttered a gruff voice from across the fire. Pandora didn't bother to raise her head, merely shifting her eye up to glare at the man through the fringes of her hair. He sat using a rag to polish an ornate revolver. It was far too nice to use but then church hunters always were pretentious pricks.

        "They're cut with blood," Pandora said. "Unless you have the same grafts as me they'll fuck you up." Pandora let out a puff of smoke. "But if you call me girlie again I'll fuck you up myself." She turned her eye back towards the pile of notes on her lap. She was only half interested in their contents but she had wasted enough of her energy on the man.

        "Welcome to try. You think you're hot shit just 'cus you're from Eden, huh?"

        Pandora laughed, not even sparing him a glance. "No, I think I'm hot shit 'cus I'm getting paid to be here and it's your money."

        Pandora reveled in the man's scowl. Weeks wasted traveling halfway across the world to save his backwater village and this is how he acts? Entitled bastard. She was being paid well enough for the hunt, but there wasn't any extra on top for dealing with bullshit. And church hunters always came with bullshit; no matter the denomination.

        His hateful expression pulled burgeoning wrinkles into sharp relief. They cast deep shadows against the firelight. He wasn't old quite yet, at least not by most standards, but then hunters didn't get old. They slowed down and then they died.

        The man raised his gun with a flourish and looked down the sights; one eye squeezed shut. "Listen here, you ain't getting paid shit less you kill it. Either you or that gorilla you came here with."

        Pandora took a long drag from her cigarette. The blood had done its job to stop the shaking but the nicotine wasn't doing anything to calm her mood. He was aiming the gun inches past her left shoulder.

        "Bring that barrel any closer and I'll kill you right—"

        "Andor, Pandora, stop fighting," said a voice from behind. It was followed by a hand gracing Pandora's left shoulder. Her jaw clenched crushing the end of her cigarette between her teeth. She whipped around and snatched the hand around its wrist. She found it attached to Geoffry, the leader of the church hunters. An ache in her fingers brought her attention to the sheer force she devoted to his restraint. She slowly uncurled her fingers and brought a trembling hand back down to her lap.

        "Don't stand in my blind spot," she said, then turned back towards the fire.

        "See, Gregor? I'm not fighting with her for fun. She's just got a bubbly personality," said the man across the fire, Andor apparently. Not to mention the man she thought was Geoffry. What kind of name was Gregor anyway? Not that it mattered. Their names weren't worth learning. She would be finished with her job and on her way by morning.

        Gregor took a seat next to Pandora. "Sorry for startling you," He said. " And don't worry about Andor, he... he just doesn't like outsiders." Gregor gave Pandora a weak smile. She turned her eye back to the notes and took another drag of her cigarette.