Arcane ~ Short Stories ~ QUEENDOM

XVI ~ Blue Paint

The group headed back towards Vander's house, dropping off Benzo and, then, Silco. At last, the two who remained reached it.

   "Here we are," he said, pivoting to face her.

   "Yeah. Thanks for tonight, I really had fun. And, you know, I always like to help you with whatever you're doing, so... I just wanted to make sure you knew." Hiedra had started off softly, but her vulnerability had quickly transformed into a confident nonchalance.

The Zaunite took a slow step backwards, readying himself for the end of their conversation. Before she could say something, the otherworldly visitor felt her throat suddenly closing up and erupted into a coughing spree. The gasses were as polluted and unpleasant as always, and the future sex worker was not sufficiently accustomed to them yet. It did not last too long, fortunately for her. Bent over and gasping under her breath, the young female was beyond embarrassed. To her great surprise, the emotion she perceived from Vander was not disdain. On the contrary, he was concerned, protective and overcome with empathy. He set his right hand against her spine and gently inched her forward.

   "Let's get you inside."

A small mechanical fan rested on a low table in the main room, ticking and clicking loudly as it struggled to create anything resembling air currents. The occupant of the shabby domicile turned the cold water knob of the kitchen sink. With an elongated squeak, opaque water trickled into the cup he had picked up for her. It was opaque enough to make the water look clear, although the minuscule crumbs of rust and unidentified particles in it were slightly visible. After all, three frail lamps, assortments of candles and a blinking ceiling light were all that provided lighting to the space. Hiedra stood in the center of it, accepting the glass.

   "Here you go. If you need anything else, just ask."

He pressed a palm to the nape of his neck nervously, and his friend's slim fingers grazed the inner arch of his other hand as she took the container.

   "Thanks, Vander."

She already felt better, and her grin was both grateful and expressive of that. The female nearly gagged on her first sip of the cold - but somehow simultaneously warm - contaminated water. Even though it was more of an inedible liquid than water, she refused to appear weak or coddled and whiny. She inhaled rapidly and pounded down the whole cup in one go, swallowing without a hitch even if her throat itched from the multiple bacteria and fragments of dirt in it. Dropping the glass onto a nearby side-table, she asked him, not so innocently as she feigned:

   "Is anyone else home?"

His tone was harsh, but his harshness was not aimed at her when he replied, "No. Everyone should be out and I don't expect they'll be back 'fore tomorrow." A realization seemed to strike him, and he added, almost enthusiastic: "Wanna stay?"

Her usual grin broadened. "Of course! I got to help you clean your shirt, right?"

   "Maybe once your hands are clean," he playfully retorted, tilting his head to indicate the direction of their bathroom.

It was already miraculous enough that there was an indoor washroom of sorts inside the crooked structure and array of dysfunctional fixtures he considered his house. Understandably, calling the installations modest would have been an understatement. Vander grabbed a metallic container that was similar to a long oblong pet bowl. He filled it with tap water and tossed a worn sponge into it. He handed the set to her.

   "That should do the trick."

   "Why, thank you."

She began scrubbing the chips of blue paint inlaid in the lines of her palm, sat on the counter. Her legs hung off it and she swung her feet subtly, half-focused on her task. He remained with her, leaning with his left thigh against the counter to look at her side profile.