"No Life 'Til Leather"

To Live is to Die Pt. 4

...

"... Yeah. Just stand outside and hold. You understand what "hold" means, right?"

Ines explained for the fifth time to a sleazy, greasy Sarkaz – shielding the interior of his soon-to-be ex-hovel with her body.

"But I left... I left a bunch of stuff in there!" He protested. "You can't just kick me out of my house and tell me I gotta live somewhere else."

"You're a nomad." She explained lazily – it could've been the tenth or maybe the sixtieth time today. "You're used to switching addresses. There's a catastrophe coming, you're being saved by Babel. We don't bring you in, we don't get paid. Simple enough?"

"I–... Well, no, 'cause..."

"Simple enough." She cut. "I can read you. I can also guide you through the six stages of grief in a minute if that'd help."

"It really wouldn't."

"Then sit here and wait." Her lungs drew a weary sigh. "Hoederer, how long on that packing-up? People are growing impatient against my will."

"Just a moment. A–... Hm." The giant's booming voice echoed from inside. "... Actually, can I ask you over for a second?"

"A second?" Ines hummed quietly, eyeing the irritable crew and measuring approximately how long it'd take them to explode and riot. "... A short one or a long one?"

"..."

Hedley went silent for a moment.

"... Longer one. I really need you to see this."

Huh.

Now that peaked her interest.

There were – or rather used to be moments in which he'd try his damned best to grab and captivate her attention for extended periods of time to present a carefully crafted spill of history-waste that somewhat loosely related to their current situation – their current employment status, the direction on their life compass, the winds coming onto their backs, the day – the day before, or the day in front, as well as quite literally anything that his lazy, half lidded eyes might've picked up. That – sure. That, he sometimes did.

But he's never directly "needed her to see something."

Ines felt her ears twitching on their own.

"Stay here." She advised the greaseball and shut the door before any words of protest could arise. Trotting through the hurdles of condensed trash and nomadic trinkets, she made her way deep into the hut to find Hedley standing before a tall, beast-bone cabinet.

"Look." He said, sparing no time for pleasantries. "Look at these. There's a whole bookshelf's worth of these things."

"...?" Ines tip-toed on over, her eyes falling upon a sight unlike anything she's ever seen before – an army of severed human palms. "What is that? Hands?"

"Sculptures." Hedley murmured, running his calloused fingers over the unnaturally well-greased and polished surfaces. "Exquisitely high quality. Over the top details and finishes. The type of stuff you don't usually find at nomad stalls in merc-markets."

"Huh." She hummed, taking one for herself to examine. "Does feel a little too high grade for a pigsty town like this. Maybe the perp's just an avid carver with way too much time."

She said it in a voice that threaded the fine line between a "let's just move on" matter-of-factness and a "why are you even showing me this" utter boredness. Hedley however, vigorously shook his head.