Reidier

4: Mella

A/N: Well... Not the most impressive. But still, read, review, and... vote, I guess? :) 

The Twisted Snake is a bloody tavern. Mella scowls at the smells- overnight curry, tobacco and alcohol- and noise- swearing, chatter, and the occasional chink of coins.

Her head pounds. It’s seven- she is usually fast asleep at this time. Fatigue makes her limbs feel leaden, and the world seems to be painted in swirls and blurs. If anything is to happen, she will not be herself. She will not be as fast as usual, nor as nimble, nor as strong. There are a thousand things that can go wrong tonight, and judging by the clock by the bar, the first has already occurred.

And Ram is late.

She doesn’t fear getting caught- if they find her, she’d run, just like she did all afternoon. At some point it stopped feeling real, and more like a game, and she’d decided to lead them in rings, running across the river, past people that looked even the slightest bit like her- and if they caught up she’d just go up. It’s unbelievable that they haven’t figured it up by now.

But then she is the Iceshard, not the Roofdancer. The Roofdancer, whose steps are so light that he could walk on rotten wood and emerge unscathed. Who can climb up the side of a building like a human lizard, and jump off and land like a cat.

The Roofdancer, who taught her everything she knows.

Still, it is surprising that no one watched the roofs. Surprising, and a little disturbing.

What if they know? What if they're pretending, waiting? Because that would mean that they know everything- including whoever Ram works for.

The fatigue worsens everything. It erects a glass wall between the world and herself, and everything outside is indistinct. She zones in and out of the moment constantly, her mind and body crying out for sleep, but herself refusing to let that happen. If she isn’t her usual self, she may botch everything- and who knows if there are any other potential allies in this world?

The door swings open, and Mella sits up, slightly straighter. He is hooded again, probably to make less of an impression- but what is surprising is the figure that is beside him.

Mella frowns. She does not expect him to bring company.

Ram's companion is talking animatedly. His face is quite expressive- scowls, glares and general disapproval. Ram, hooded, is even more inscrutable than usual, but as they draw closer Mella overhears what he says.

"I've never been wrong before." His tone is still flat and emotionless.

His companion growls. "But what if you are now? You're jeapardising everything, Ar-" He cuts himself off to glare at Mella.

"What do you want? We'll pay you whatever, then go away."

The hood casts Ram's face into shadow, but Mella can still see him rolling his eyes. "Bird. Be nice."

To Mella he says, "I apologise. We'll still do our best to help you out, but we have uses for your talents in the meanwhile."

'Uses for your talents'? I'm out. She groans inwardly. More people out to take advantage of Hydran magic and her creativity in employing those skills. But on the other hand, she really isn't keen on a night out in the streets, or in an illegal lodging. Any hotel in the bright side of Reidier would surely ask for a visa, and those after her would track her faked identifying documents.

But after the incident with the Surgeon, she isn't going to trust anything to do with hiring herself out, regardless of how inviting the prospect of spending her nights indoors.