Displaced

Chapter 23

"An'... and then 'e said... 'If tha's a vekkel, where's my wife?'"

Sofie Ramaut sat on a rough stool in a noisy tavern in a world she barely knew, watching three people she'd just met ramble and laugh drunkenly about their dead friends. In fact, "drunk" was putting it very lightly. She'd never seen people down goblet after goblet of liquor at such an astounding rate before, and she'd been to Oktoberfest! Speaking of which, Sofie felt like she could really use a dozen drinks herself, but with no money to her name she could do nothing but watch as the others guzzled beer in superhuman quantities, toasting the recently departed.

She'd only been with the trio a few days, but she could already tell that there was a lot going on with each of them. Arlette was gruff and businesslike, but Sofie felt like that was a front, a wall she put up to hide the kind person that she really was. She'd helped Sofie when nobody else would, she'd listened to her, even she'd lent her clothes. Sofie felt safe around her, like the woman was the big sister that she'd never had.

Basilli was confusing. The man hadn't done anything actively against her. In fact, he'd helped her that one time back in the wagon. But he'd also called her a whore and claimed that he didn't care what happened to her, so Sofie couldn't help but dislike the man. The suave, silver-tongued, charming rogue persona he seemed to cultivate rubbed her the wrong way as well. Still, she told herself, he'd kept Jaquet from abandoning her in the middle of nowhere, so he couldn't be all that bad, right?

Jaquet, on the other hand, could fuck right off. The fat fuck was nothing but a brute, and could go die in a volcano for all she cared. She hadn't forgiven him for what he'd done to her. Her throat still hurt from his crushing grip. He kept looking at her like she was some kind of liability, some kind of threat. Just where did he get off on judging people like that?

Arlette treated him like an old friend. Her oldest friend, really. It was obvious that the two were closer to each other than they were to Basilli. Back in the wagon, he'd tried to couch his protests as worries about her dragging down the three of them as a whole, but it was plain to Sofie that he was really worried about Arlette. He glared at Sofie like an overprotective father glares at his daughter's first boyfriend.

"How about you, Arlette?" Basilli asked. The two had been talking about another one of their dead companions, though Sofie had zoned out for a minute and missed some of it. "You ever think about marrying somebody? What about Jaquet here? You spend so much time working together you might as well make it official."

"Maybe if he was just old and fat, instead of old, fat, and ugly," Arlette replied.

Maybe it was because of all the alcohol in his system, or the excessive emotions from talking about the newly deceased, but Jaquet's mask had slipped off at Arlette's words, just for a split second. The others hadn't noticed that look of pain, but Sofie had. Those words had crushed him. No way! Sofie hurriedly rewrote everything she knew about Jaquet and Arlette's relationship. That wasn't some sort of paternal protectiveness she'd seen just now. That was love. Yearning. Romantic desire. Jaquet was in love with Arlette, Sofie was sure, and he was hiding it from everybody.

Gross!

Love was beautiful and all that, sure, but this dude was at least twice Arlette's age! Surely that wasn't normal here, right? Right? Now she needed those drinks more than ever.

*     *     *

Sofie stared at the unconscious form of her savior as she snored away on the bed in their inn and tried not to panic, but it wasn't working. She was nobody? They were going to leave her in Xoginia, wherever that was? Arlette had dropped those bombs on her in her inebriated state and just carried on for hours afterwards like nothing had happened, leaving Sofie to just twist in the wind. But now at least Sofie knew where she stood. Not even the one person she'd had hope for actually gave a damn about her.