Maeve: Of Blades

Chapter Two

Maeve at once turned to face the person, who at current, was grasping at her shoulder with harsh iron grip. The man had soft anger etched onto his considerably handsome face. However, the thing that had caught Maeve's attention was the juxtaposition of the man's fairly youthful demeanour to his stark white hair which seemed to shine in the light of the towns hanging lamps.

Lex lazily drawled ,"Under the instruction of the Court of the Magistrate I am obliged to inform you that you are going to be arrested for numerous thefts..."

"I don't steal," Maeve spat at law enforcers face.

Lex's eyes were distracted by the light glistening of the gold which was visible from Maeve's pocket, "How did you acquire all of that gold, then?" Foolishly, the officer removed his tight grip on Maeve's shoulder in order to snatch the gold poorly hidden in her cloak.

Perfect. The man roared in anguish as, without hesitation, Maeve dug her boot down hard into Lex's shin. Whilst desperately clutching his leg Lex began to shoot wildly at the small, cat-like girl as she effortlessly danced around his bullets. Cunningly, Lex grabbed a spare revolver from his belt and quickly skid in the direction of Maeve; not cunning enough to observe the two sharp blades hurtling in his direction. Both drew crimson liquid from his body as they buried themselves dead men into the grave of Lex's body. Swiftly, Maeve lightly jumped her way back to Lex, who was bleeding out in front of her, and yanked the blades from out of his shoulder and arm. With new found anger Lex lunged at the girl who only narrowly missed his grasp by launching herself in the opposite direction.

Maeve ran.

It was a an hour or so until Maeve reached the nearest building; a pub. She narrowed her eyes at the sign, above the pub's entrance, of a drunk, grotesque man in-mid-motion of vomiting. Luckily for Maeve, she was too tired and thirsty to care whether the pub looked reputable or not. The grass, leading to the large door, crunched underfoot and felt as burnt as if the devil, fresh out of hell, had barged into the bar himself.

Loudly, Maeve pushed open the heavy door of the tavern and sauntered her way over to the bar. The barkeep, just as old as the ancient pub, raised his disarrayed eyebrows at the young, troublesome vixen. On his hand was an interesting bronze ring which curved and clung to his hand like a snake about to crush it's victim. Steadily, the man's eyes caught a small glimpse of Maeve's freshly bloodied daggers; "I hope you're not looking for trouble, Missy."

"How dare you!" Maeve lifted an arm in front of her face , "...Accuse me of such deviant behaviour. If you don't want my business I guess I'll have to keep walking until I come across a similarly gross pub."

She began to hurriedly walk away, but to her delight the man called out to her, "I never meant to offend you Madam... I was just concerned about..."

"My father makes me carry them," Maeve interrupted putting her hand up dramatically as she turned and walked back to the bar, "He was worried about the sort of men I may encounter on my journey." Slowly turning the bloodstained daggers, "Alas, he was correct." Unintentionally, the man leaned forward in sincere concern for the girl he believed he had misjudged.

Pathetic.

The man began to guiltily rub the ring on his hand, "Why don't you come have a drink on me?" Smiling falsely Maeve moved further toward the man in front of her. The barkeep smiled back whilst pouring an ambiguous alcoholic concoction into an obtuse mug. Maeve felt sick to her stomach; the liquid looked murky brown. He pushed the drink along the bar in a swift motion and nodded towards the young girl. She nodded back at him and desperately gulped a few mouthfuls of the strange tasting drink which made Maeve feel light-headed. Pointing out his sharp chin, the barman asked, "May I look at one of your blades?"

Usually Maeve would never let anyone near her precious blades, her only protection, because it would leave her defenceless. For no reason that Maeve could comprehend she trusted this stranger she had met not longer than an hour ago. Once touched the blades they came alive with a fiery breath of anger which glowed in an intricate mixture of powerful pinks and purples. The man then observed how her eyes, despite their slowed waxing, still contained a spark similar to the blades as if their souls were intertwined.

Maeve's eyes grew heavy.

The barkeep was twirling the blades in his hands, less swiftly as Maeve had done before, and as expected nothing remained of the magic which had occurred not a second ago. Curiously, the man slid his finger across a blade,"How did you obtain the magic to possess such power?" He looked up at the drowsy girl.

Despite her current state Maeve managed the forced and unconvincing reply, "They're not magic"

He gazed into her electric blue eyes and smiled whilst shaking his head, "Of course not." Maeve was oblivious. The barman crouched down beneath the bar, "Would you like another drink?" Before Maeve could reply he had already stood up and started pouring more liquid into her drink.

"You're too kind..." Maeve thanked the man weakly, "but I'm afraid I must be on my way." The barkeep grimaced at this remark but it was gone almost as quickly as it had appeared. Maeve looked at her blades which the man clutched in his arms, "I'll be needing those back." He reluctantly passed them back.

Slowly, Maeve lifted her stone body of the stool and lazily walked over to the door. Maeve felt terrible; her head was pounding, her joints were aching and everything appeared hazy. She had only made it a metre outside of the pub's doorway before she collapsed onto the muddy path below...

  

-To be continued-