Stab a Dagger Down the Middle

Succubus (Chapter 1:4)

I'm put on edge by the home-like feel of the inn when I walk in. It's horribly pleasant, and I dislike cozy atmospheres. But I sigh, examining the warm inn room I find myself in.

A matted, tan shag carpet covers the floor, and dirt sticks to its strands. A few black, cushioned chairs rest in a corner to my right, and a cream colored table with newsletters atop lies between them. Light pours in from the massive windows to the sides of the room, and no other source of light seems to be near.

Paintings hang on the walls; they all have a theme of nature, and they are typically flowers of some sort. I love roses, as they symbolize femininity and romance. But sadly, none of the shitty paintings are of these lovely blossoms.

A firm staircase stands directly in front of me, and the light wood appears fresher than the wood of the building. Strange. Finally, to my left, a counter with an elderly man behind sits on an old rocking chair with a leather-bound book in his slender mitts. He's likely not even noticed my presence. The book must be good. I stare closely to it, as I enjoy reading. I just don't have much time when I only have a half an hour to be me every hour.

I shake my head, deciding to ignore the story. I sometimes float off when I see something I like. My legs stroll over to the bald elder, whose white hair fell victim to gravity and found its way to his chin, and he peers up from his book and swiftly places it onto the counter. A gentle smile spreads on his pruny face, and a kind glint sparkles in his green eyes.

My fingers graze my beard stubble, and I glower when realizing I forgot about the grease. Fuck my life. "Hey, can I rent a room for the night?" I ask impatiently, and the man lowers his eyebrows. But he remains with the smile, likely since he doesn't wish to lose a customer.

"I have three. One is a single bedroom," he wheezes, his voice shaky. It's a faint sound like a breath of air, and it makes me realize he more likely than not has very little time left on Desiunea, this world. The ghastly coughing only solidifies this idea. Poor bastard, but I couldn't care less.

"How much is the single room?" I eagerly question, staring at my pathetic coin sack that dangles off my hip.

"Ten silver," he replies, and I sigh. Shit. It looks like it's time to barter. I hate bargaining with old men... They are greedy assholes that understand the game well.

"This place doesn't appear greatly busy. Without high demand, can I get the place for less? I have five silver." The man frowns with my offer, stroking his beard.

"The price is already low. Due to less demand, the prices need to stay at ten so we can afford to keep this place runnin'," he responds, and I sigh while he vehemently stares at me for his desired response of my acceptance.

I could give the whole Savite lie again, but I shouldn't throw that out too much. I don't want to be noticed more than I have to be. Fuck, this sucks. It's time to play pathetic, I suppose. Damn it.

"I apologize, but I only have eight coins on me. It's all I can offer," I sigh, exhausted and wishing to bathe already. The man looks down at the polished counter, and then back up at me. He puts his hand out, metal sticking out from the crevices of his bony hand. He nods his head in a way to suggest I put my hand under his, so I do as he wishes, my palm facing the ceiling.

"Take it for free. If a man as young as you is strugglin' with cash, you need as much as you can save till you find a career. Make sure to get a job as soon as possible," he lectures, and I smile in a way to suggest I'll listen. But I have things better to do than slave away at a menial labor job.

"Thanks, I appreciate it," I lie, merely wishing to be in his good graces. He releases what he holds, and a golden key with a silver five dangling off the side falls into my hand. I grasp it tightly, my hand cooling with the frigidity of the metal.