How NOT to be a mother in a doomed story (Oc story)

Meeting and working with a Pirate 5

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This...

This was not what she was expecting when she went to open her shop. Especially when it came about having people falling down life flies around her. Worry plastered on her face as she noticed Petronilla knelt beside the felled men, those aloof eyes of hers now sharp as they swept over their bodies.

Her gloved hands sensing their heartbeats and temperature...or something else, but whatever it was that she found out was not good news with the way her expression seemed to sour on the spot.

If that was even possible.

"These men have to be brought to a hospital..."

Crucabena bit her lip, kneeling right beside the Huntress. Looking first at the men on the ground, noticing a few strange lines slowly warping around their necks before she looked up.

Whatever it was..it did not look good.

And why on earth it had happened in her fucking shop...!?

"A hospital....? Petronilla...what is it?"

"It's a big building with patients but that its not important right now.."

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In hindsight of that particular moment after wards... she wasn't really proud of what happened next when she picked the closest dying man and tried to club the ever annoying woman to death.

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"..........." = Speech

[.........] = Thoughts

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Callas didn't trust her...

He......... didn't want to trust her

Such words may have sound harsh to be directed at a lady of all people, distasteful, cruel even. But he would not lie to himself in saying that he was not feeling any reservations whatsoever about this....uncharted territory he had unwittingly strapped his ass to.

In fact...how had he even managed to do that...? It did n-No, he should not waste time in idle thoughts of that nature when there were more pressing matters than his ability to make a problem out of thin air.

With a sigh Callas rose his head, his sole remaining eye staring at the streets below the footbridge underneath him, watching the people of Poisson go on their daily lives, some selling wares on their modest shops while somewhere else a group of brats played with a ball of sorts.

Fishes of all types and sizes were swaying slowly from hooks by the gentle breeze of air that blew through the cavities on the upper sections of the cavern where the small city-town was located, dragging away with it the music from other corners of Poisson from who ever had woken up at this ungodly hour to play while the underground blueish hue that emanated from the steam of the waters below and the humid taste of the air mixed

The sight was a common one...

One that he knew well..

Of common people living as far away as possible from the so called decency and glamour of Fontaine while still been a part of it. And yet, they were not the downtrodden or the vagrants many from the clean, spotless streets of Fontaine thought them to be..but people living happy with what little they had.