Gilded Chaos

Visitors

Mr Terrignem is my captor.

I'm about to punch Mr Terrignem.

My fist- and it is a lovely fist- does not connect, though. He catches it mid swing with little effort.

"What are you doing here? How do you even know where I live?" I ask- none too kindly, he may be my soon to be employer, but delving into my personal life does not come with the title.

"I'm here to fetch the parcel I left you. Clearly, your house isn't safe in the least and the material I've left you is far too valuable. I will be delivering it to you every morning and retrieving it in the evenings."

Ah, of course. My captor is my employer. I seem to forget this quite often, he does look terribly young. Inconveniently so.

"Wouldn't want anything to happen to the precious parcel now, would we?"

Smiling brightly, I notice a bruise blooming on his right jaw and my smile brightens considerably. Well, I do have a hard head; Mr Murphy would gladly attest to that.

Noticing my stare- and my smile- Mr Terrignem's jaw twitches- the only sign of his annoyance.

What an exquisitely expressive man.

"Will you let go of my hand so I can open my door? I should get that bruise checked out", I tell him, poorly disguising my big headedness.

As though noticing our hands only now, he suddenly lets it go and takes a step back. Odd chap.

Retrieving the key from the floor, I invite him in.

My apartment consists of three small rooms- so this is a tight, uncomfortable fit. I almost feel sorry for this Eric man as he sits on the only couch in the room and it lets out a deafening creak. Before having to suffer through an awkward silence, I retrieve a cold, soaked towel.

I unceremoniously shove under his nose- I'm not one for these awkward situations- and head to the kitchen to trudge up some excuse for tea. 

The long-dreaded social obligation comes around where I actually have to serve his tea and sit with him. I opt for an overturned crate in the corner which I usually use as a bin and use another crate as a table to place his tea. He doesn't touch it. He simply sits there holding the towel- which he hasn't used- and stares at me. 

Clearing my throat and shifting uncomfortably, I say, "There isn't any sugar, by the way..."

"Hmm..."

"So what brought you to Murphy's? I'm sure there are blacksmiths from wherever it is that you come from."

"Mur- oh you mean Hephaestus," he says with a small smile that does nothing to brighten his features, "He's an old acquaintance of mine. As far as blacksmiths go, I simply trust him to get the job done."

"Hephaestus? Mr Murphy's name is Hephaestus?! Like the Greek god of fire and metalworking? How quaint. Oh, I'll never let him hear the end of it", I chuckle out.

The tiny smile remains as he raises an eyebrow at me. I'm probably missing something.

"You've done your research. Particularly interested in Greek mythology?"

I'm almost tempted to show him my bedroom, which isn't much of a bedroom, that's filled to the brim with books. The mystery to where I spend all my money. His condescending demeanour raises my hackles. I'm pretty sure he knows I'm a woman, so it annoys me all the more that he seems to be so certain of my lack of knowledgeability on the subject. 

Ignoring his question, I retrieve the parcel and slide it across the makeshift table. Just as he pockets said package, we're interrupted by a knock at the door. 

Frowning, I make to check who it is. I never get visitors, save for the miser seated on my couch. 

Just before my hand touches the doorknob, I'm yanked against a warm body with a hand over my mouth. Disturbingly, I don't panic, already knowing whose hand it is. 

I am tempted, however, to knock my head against his blimey face again. He slowly removes his hand and makes his way to the mysterious guest, signalling for me to stay silent. 

Rolling my eyes, I lean against the wall, watching him approach the door as though it's a wild beast. 

Mr Terrignem gingerly pulls out a dagger from his coat. 

Eyes widening and mouth agape, I'm most certainly not at ease against the wall any longer. 

Excited would be more like it.

He places the hand holding the dagger behind his back and opens the door, appearing to be the perfect gentleman. Except for the fact that he looks more manicured than the Queen's garden and is standing in a complete wreck of an apartment; minor details. 

"Uh... Is this the residence of one Miss Pandora?" I hear a gravelly voice ask from beyond the door.

"Yes, why?"

"I'd like to speak with her, is she here?"

Just as I'm about to reveal myself, Mr Terrignem closes the door a bit more so as to obscure me from the man's view.

"No, she isn't here. What is it?"

"Well, she dropped this funny little thing from her satchel when she passed by the bar downstairs. Lucky I caught it, eh? Here ye' go."

Immediately shutting the door after snatching the mysterious object from the man's hand, Mr Terrignem whirls around to face me with a deadly serious expression, holding... Uh oh.. A chain connected to a talon/tooth thing.

Just as he's about to open his mouth, the door bursts open to reveal two men holding daggers who come rushing at... Me?

Thank the heavens, hells and everything in between for Eric Terrignem, who happens to be between myself and my attackers. Hell probably has more to do with it judging by the murderous look in his eyes as though he's on the verge of breathing out fire.

Just as one of the men reaches Eric with their dagger upraised, intentions clear, Eric doubles over and spin kicks the man's legs from under him, his own dagger at the ready. 

A loud squelching sound and a thud are all the proof I need to know that Mr Terrignem just killed a man in my living room.

Too busy staring at Eric boy, I don't notice the second man come up behind me until he grips my arm and I feel the cold metal of a dagger biting into my throat.

Inconvenient youthfulness indeed.