A Splatter of Other #Wattys2015

IX

I spend the rest of the afternoon following Ember around as she carries out small tasks. I haven't spoken to Archer since the Pits, in fact, I haven't even seen him. Which is a relief, I'm not sure what I'd do if I did. How could the man, who saved my life, turn around and justify murder for entertainment? I help Ember sometimes when she needs to carry cooking essentials from the storeroom. I try to memorise the way to and from it, but we seem to go a different way each time, and I realise Ember's doing this deliberately to throw me off track. I rub my salve into my calf and lip early in the afternoon, and offer some to her when I notice she has a freshly scabbed graze on her elbow.

"Thanks, Franceska," she sighs, gingerly applying it to the wound.

"No problem, I have plenty of it."

"Oh, I never asked, what did you think of the Pits?"

I wrinkle my nose as we continue along a dimly lit hall, carrying sacks of flour, "Eugh, awful! I don't care what Archer says, there must be a better way of getting the same pleasure."

"Oh there is," she grins at me, and heat flames my cheeks red, "but this is a quicker, wider spread way of getting the same end result," she laughs, "I'm sure if you asked Archer he'd gladly skip the next one."

"Er, no," I reply, my chest constricting, "I'd rather just not go, and do something else...not someone."

She bursts into laughter, then turns to me as an idea comes to her, "Actually, I think I might just have the perfect thing. Come on, let's get these to the kitchen." 

We stop outside of a room that's entrance has been blocked by a screen. I notice almost immediately that this area isn't like others, as there are childish finger paintings in bright colours all along the walls. From behind the screen, I hear a familiar sound of chortles, wails, giggles and babbling. I turn to Ember, delight clear on my face.

"Can we go in?" I ask breathlessly.

"Of course," she laughs back, pulling the divider aside. I scurry in, and almost trip over a knee high barrier just on the other side. I step over it hastily and when I look up, a strange, almost animalistic noise squeezes out of the back of my throat. Directly before me was a sectioned off area where toddlers, no older than four, were painting, drawing, building things or chewing on books. Most of them simply wore loose fitting cotton pants, or shifts, many with cloth wrapped around their lowers halves to protect them from unwanted accidents. A couple of women sat within, keeping a close eye on their activities. In another section to the far left where a few dozen cribs, with sleeping or wailing babies, another couple of sitters walk between, passing out bottles, burping and consoling. I stand with my hands pressed to my chest, my eyes automatically widen and brightening. I felt, for the first time in nearly a week, undeniably happy.

"Oh Ember, look at them!" I turn back to see her standing uncomfortably near the entrance, "Aren't they just adorable?" I'm gushing, I know that but I can't help it, I've always had a weakness for children and I had planned on becoming a Midwife. In Arrow, Midwifes don't just deliver babies, they also care for them, and watch over children from new-born up to the age of ten.

"Ah, yes," Ember replies, looking even more uncomfortable. One of the women in the toddler section stands and moves towards us.

"Can I help you?" She asks, narrowing her eyes suspiciously at me.

"Yes, Gwendolyn, I would be very grateful if you'd allow Franceska to work with the Carers from now on. She's not a fan of the Pits," she adds, much to my embarrassment.

"Of course she's not," she replies coolly, eyes raking over me critically. "Aren't you Archer's toff?"

"I don't-"