Living in the shadows (1)

1. Words of Warning

To anyone used to going to Barney's bar, this would be a usual sight : someone passed out in the alleyway with their head in a pile of Chinese takeaway cartons and vomit on their mouth, and at least another person trying - and failing - to discreetly throw up in the corner. This did not, however, go unnoticed by the rich couple walking passed wearing designer coats. Promptly after the second heave they crossed the street over to the direction of downtown Midlands wrinkling their noses and piled out a body mist bottle and began spraying themselves all over it. Clean rich freaks.

But after his third heave the drunken man perked up, his ruddy face and bloodshot brown eyes turned murderous when seeing a girl exit the bar and cross the road to her motorbike, his face instantly became thunder clouds. Wiping the leftover sick off his mouth with his blue sweatshirt sleeve, he bellowed across the street, "I'm gonna kill you, Trix! It's all your fault!"

The girl just laughed and mounted her bike, but before turning the engine on, she yelled back, "You'd better get in line then!"

The drunk looked more pissed off then ever. Just as he was about to yell more, but she laughed and pulled out of the car park and sped away down to Fleet Street. He can very well get in line.

————

As usual, the Umbra Mortis was filled with as many people its cracking walls would hold. Gothic wallpaper covered the walls, met halfway up with black panelling. The windows were covered with black lace veils that offered customers more privacy from the outside streets, as Trix could bet that most the dealings made her weren't legal on three different bases. Dark oak floorboards that had been there since the 1800s were dented and scratched (some were even scorched).

There were  numerous rooms and parlours at the Umbra Mortis, even though it was a narrow building, its labyrinthine corridors seemly went on forever. It held that mysterious charm that was one of the reasons why Trix so loved the place - and she always considered it loved her back. After all, she was the one cleaning it day in and day out.

"You're late!" Barked Benedict from his usual corner in the pub, "Should've been here 30 minutes ago. Bloody teenagers,"  He sulked and went back to his beer.

"I'm very sorry, Ben," She went over to him and patted his head as he glared at her.  "Anyway, I'm here now. Bella not back yet?"

"Nobody's seen her since yesterday. I'm telling you, it's those bloody henchmen! Killed her out of spite, I bet!"

"Oh, shut up Ben! Let a man enjoy his peace around here. There's a reason I'm here instead of gambling up the road." Francis told him. He was in his early 20s but had one of those faces that didn't really tell his age and was like the brother Trix never had.

"Awww, is it just to see my pretty face every day?" Trix laughed.

"Oh yes, because you're that sufferable," Francis replied, his grey eyes sparkling and he chuckled.

Both laughed, but was soon interrupted again.

"Ben, stop barking up the wrong tree, The Terminator and his men haven't bothered us since the Miracles came into play, so why now?" Reasoned Howler, another one of the strange regulars who was as kind but wasn't as impulsive as Benedict.

"You haven't seen what I've seen! Honestly, be thankful the ones who used to come here when i was a boy weren't like him!" Benedict yelled, and the entire Umbra Mortis started up in debate again.

"Like father like son, ain't it, mate?" Another popped up - Ambrose, if she heard correctly.

"Like who?" Trix questioned

The noise suddenly reduced to ash. It was so quiet, a pin could've been dropped and everyone could have heard it. Benedict started to mutter something under his breath and the others just started shaking their heads and sitting back down. She even heard one of them say, "Bloody mundane,"

"Well, it's been less than 24 hours-"She tried again,

"I'm telling you, she's dead!"Benedcit insisted.

Trix sighed. Benedict was in his late 50s, and had that sort of face where nobody could tell his real age. And she was pretty sure he had dementia as he was always banging on about werewolves, fae, vampires, warlocks, witches, sorceresses, Merlin's guild and now the latest - Henchmen. Her only theory was perhaps he was a writer in his earlier life and now he believed what he wrote?

"Look, I'll go by her place after my shift, okay?" She gestured around her, at the costumers waiting to be served. She was on a first name basis with most people, as new people were always coming, who she liked to get to know. Some she hadn't seen in months. "People need to be served, you know how badly I need this shift." And boy, they did. She was 3 days late on her rent and the oven had packed up last night. It was probably the shabbiest place she could rent, but they asked no questions as long as the rent was paid and if she was being honest, they overcharged, but she was a 14 year old living by herself in the worst part of London. The most expensive thing she owned was her motorbike, and even that was a gift.

"Fine, fine." Benedict gave in.

"But make sure you're armed," Added Francis.

"You know me. I always carry the knife you got me, and that pistol with the strange runes on you gave me last month."

"Good. Does it work?"

"Yes, I've tried it, it works."

Reluctantly, she wanted to add. Reluctantly she had tried it, it had fired and then she had sworn never to use it again. Guns meant death. She would not be responsible for anymore death in the world. Not after what drove her to London in the first place.

"And take the sword belt I gave you too!"

"I will, I will." If Trix didn't know better, she would say he was an arms dealer. But like everyone that came to the pub, there was always something sketchy about everyone. But definitely more exciting than bartending at Barney's - everyone just got so drunk.

She left Ben and Francis to enjoy the last dregs of their drink and went back to the bar, taking everyone's orders and finishing her shift with a pocket load of tips. They always over tipped her, not matter what.