Vintage Roses

Chapter 1: The Meeting (A.K.A, CircaTwo Days After I F*cked Up BIG TIME)

It had been two days since the fire. My parents had gone home to Canada to auction off some rare tomes and take care of shipments, and like any stupid teenager, I had decided to throw a party in their absence. It was so, so simple to just call my friends and buy cheap booze, and it was the biggest mistake I had ever made. I'd never had alcohol before, and got intoxicated very fast, much like everyone else. Then my idiot boyfriend started playing with his lighter. In his drunken, giggly state, he dropped it, and that was the end of two decades of hard work on my parents' part - they lost a home and job as well as a daughter. They don't even know I'm alive to this day. My friends fled through the front door, and I never saw them again, but I stayed like the idiot that I was. After a few futile attempts to put out the rapidly spreading blaze, I grabbed some bottles of water and a loaf of bread from the kitchen counter and broke my way out through the back door.

We had had a huge garden, and that's where I hid. I spent the first night inside the great hollow oak tree, in the very back of the copse, selfishly praying to who-knows-what that I would be safe. Those few hours, I only begged for myself, not sparing a thought for my friends or family. The next day, the house was a black, ceilingless wreck, somewhat intact, and taped off from the public. I did nothing for the whole day except wallow in guilt, self-pity and self-loathing at my stupidity, and gaze at the gathering clouds. When darkness overtook the sky, I crawled back to what remained of my home, for shelter. I wasn't well-hydrated, but I hadn't even one bottle left, and pangs of hunger were wracking my body. That was the night I met Ashe.

Curled up in fetal position, I was drifting off in an uneasy doze when I heard a familiar clicking sound. I sat up in a panic, my heart pumping frenetically, but then saw the flame extinguish itself. An orange pinpoint of light glowed in the darkness as the smoker inhaled, then dimmed as she (although I couldn't tell, at the time, her gender) breathed out. There was only shadow and slightly darker shadow, a sharp profile outlined by dim, fractured moonlight, yet somehow this was enough to make me forget how to breathe. Who could it be? What sort of person would come here in the middle of the night? Surely only someone whose deepest desire was to stay hidden. I trembled. Then, to my utmost horror, I felt a tickling sensation in my nose. It took a Herculean amount of effort to strangle that sneeze, I can tell you! Nonetheless, a stifled spitting sound or a sniff must have escaped, because the shadow holding the cigar suddenly stood very, very still. The crunch of dry leaves under a heel told me she had taken a step in my direction, and I huddled against the wall in terror. I knew that ordinarily I would have stood a chance if I was attacked, but in my stiff, tired state, I was at the shadow's mercy. The form crouched down, only a few meters away from me, and I heard that horrid clicking sound again as a flame flickered from the lighter.

I was too tired to flinch away from the strong, warm glow. The first thing I saw were a pair of deep red eyes rimmed by long, dark lashes, under beautifully arched eyebrows. A surprised chuckle escaped her scarlet-painted lips. "Well, who'd have thought I'd find another soul in a place like this?" said the most wanted outlaw for miles, extending a hand. I shied away from her, and watched her smirk. "Hey, I don't bite. Besides, if you're here, you ain't got nowhere ta go and you sure as Hell don't wanna be found. Ain't like you're gonna rat me out, so you ain't a threat." I froze, then crawled towards her. Elizabeth Caledonia "Calamity" Ashe. She offered me her cigar, but I shook my head. "Water?" I croaked, my voice little more than a pant. She looked at me then, really looked, with a pitying sort of expression, and tossed me a small flask. I drank greedily, vaguely aware of her gaze fixed on me in the background. I drained the entirety of the flask in a few desperate glups, feeling slightly guilty as I handed it back to her empty. She took it with narrowed eyes, tipping her head back slightly as though trying to remember something.

"You're that girl who lived here, aren't ya?" she asked suddenly. I stared fixedly at the ground, feeling strangely detached. "Yeah." I breathed, my voice sounding high-pitched and hollow. "How d'you know?" She shrugged, beginning to toy with her lighter, flicking it on, off, on again. "Newspaper scraps. Your picture's all over the place these days. Reported missing, presumed dead." I had trouble tearing my eyes off her hands, one minute seeing her slim fingers and the next calloused palms and bitten nails. "You got any plans for the rest of ya life? 'Cause livin' on the streets ain't right for a doll like ya," she said. If the claws of hunger tearing at my throat were anything to go by, she was right. "I guess joining the criminal underworld wouldn't be a bad idea." I mumbled, rubbing my face tiredly. She grinned and tucked a strand of white hair behind her ear. "Well, I ain't got no objections to make to that. Might as well invite ya into the family. S'not something I do much, but I'd feel bad leavin' ya to fend for your own after all this." She gestures at the black walls, and brings her cigar to her lips for a puff. I snort. "Didn't know you had a heart to pain you." Her eyes seem to flash dangerously in the strange light. "Careful now, sugar. Say you join us, if you don't pull your weight, or if you betray me, I'll wring your pretty neck myself. This ain't all just kindness and roses on my part; the papers put quite so much emphasis on ya being bright and well read."

Sudden understanding coursed through me, and - to her astonishment - I laughed. This kind of a deal, I could comprehend. "Count me in." I said. "But first, I really ought to eat something."