Soft Hearts Hold Secrets

Short On Cash

The knocks startled Muriel from his thoughts.

He'd been in a peaceful daze of sorts. Sat back rather comfortably in the chair at the table, his heavy lidded, tired eyes trained upon the vase of new flowers Asra had given him the morning after dinner. They were a gentle purple, the shade of forget-me-nots, bunched together — perfectly shaped and tied. He had his fork in his hand, absently poking at the full plate before him while Inanna watched rather expectedly for her share from beneath the table.

Muriel was tired, but he didn't know why. He'd just gotten back from one of the more quieter, lazier days of his shop. He'd actually left it earlier than usual. The roads were empty and barren, no one had broken cars nor cash to give. Muriel left because he wanted to be home in his clean, secure apartment. He left, perhaps, out of precaution. Eagerness. It was payday, after all.

And he had every penny to cover it.

A thousand. That was what he needed. Everything else had been paid for that week, and the rent of the month too. All that was left to pay was his debt to the Count, and then he'd coast until the next paycheck and build up his amounts again until two weeks later. Muriel was working out a system, working out a way to keep up with the climbing rates and prices. If business kept going the way it was, he'd be okay. If Asra kept helping him with his food, he'd be more than okay. If, for some reason, Lucio settled for a firm amount to collect every week again, Muriel would be picture perfect.

A thousand. A thousand was a pretty number. An easy one to remember. Something flashy and fun to brag about.

A thousand. That's what Muriel had. A thousand.

The knock on the door. Muriel started from his daze and set down his fork. He then placed his bet on just who it would be. Ludovico? Bludmilla? Probably Ludovico. Either one would scowl and grumble out some cruel form of Scourge and be in their way. Muriel's lips quirked into the gentlest of smirks on his way to the fridge, ducking down and slipping out the plastic baggie of cash he'd hidden there. It was his new spot — he didn't trust the mattress anymore.

Muriel moved to the door, and undid all the locks. Each one moved with a heavy clunk or a hefty click as every gear turned and every nub fell into place. He slid the chain, and opened the door, peeking out into the tired eyes of Ludovico — guessed it — and earning that sneer he'd been waiting for.

"You know the drill," Ludovico growled, holding out his open palm.

With a nod, Muriel brought the door back some and unzipped the plastic baggie. He slipped the money out, flicked through it as if he meant to count it one last time, and then placed it into Ludovico's open palm. The man looked down at the money, and began to count it himself. Muriel watched, some of his confidence shying away to the normal anxiety as Ludo's thumb shuffled through each dollar.

"A thousand," Muriel mumbled. He almost sounded impatient. "I just counted it."

Ludovico stopped, his hands freezing halfway through flicking past a hundred dollar bill. He looked up, brow furrowed.

"A thousand?" he asked. "Scourge, the Count wants two."

All the blood in Muriel's body seemed to stop in place in one chilling instant — like his heart had skipped a beat.

"Two?" he echoed stupidly, blinking his eyes. "Two... two what?"

Ludovico gave a scoff and rolled his eyes. "Two thousand," he mumbled. He held out his hand after he was done counting the only thousand Muriel had given him. The only thousand Muriel could give him. Ludo wiggled his fingers a little. "Come on, pay up. I'm ready to go home."