Tales from the Drift: Old Lessons, Hard Futures

Chapter 26 - Gutters and Pathways

THE OXALIA EXPANSE // THE MONTRESSOR SHIPYARDS // LOWER DISC

Brego's lips curled up toward his nose, and he stifled a groan with a sigh and a smile. "Pylack!" He sang, forcing cheer into his voice.

Pylack answered with a dismissive grunt, appearing from behind a precarious section of overfull shelving. A long-stemmed pipe sat in the corner of his mouth, his lips, stained a dark indigo from the gummy mixture of spices and herbs he smoked, spread into a broad grin as his sulfur-yellow eyes landed on Vyx.

He rumbled an obscene moan, a hand rising to scratch the scruff on his chin and throat. He nodded with obvious appreciation, ignoring Brego with rank derision.

"Syruul, the Lost Planet? Syruul, Gem of the Galaxy?" Pylack's gaze lingered upon Vyx's every subtle shift and step.

"Syruul, the mythical deathtrap?"

"Tut, tut, Brego. I'm about to entertain this statue of beauty and power with a tale of woe and sadness. I'll indulge no such interruptions from you."

"Pylack. We don't have time."

A cruel snarl erupted from around the pipe's stem and Pylack wheeled around to face Brego. "I don't care about your time, Brego. You're in my emporium. You're on my time, and if I wish to gorge myself on this... unique creature, then you must wait."

Brego choked back his surprise as Vyx closed the distance between herself and Pylack in a single lunge. She shoved the butt of her staff beneath his chin, tilting his head upward and back so that her masked countenance menaced his gaze.

"This... emporium, may be yours, but he is in my service and therefore he is on my time. You will not cheat him. You will not swindle him. You will gorge yourself on nothing but base frustration, and you will expedite the exchange of currency for product. Is that understood?"

Caught between fleeing or fighting, Pylack twitched. He chortled, attempting to mask fear with excitement. His vulgar appetites refusing to be subdued, he leaned toward Vyx with a grinning leer and reaching hands.

Faster still, she moved beyond his groping and thumped both his shins with the opposite end of her staff.

He cried out, hopping backward on alternating feet.

"Need I repeat myself?"

Wretched with contempt, Pylack doddered.

She moved to strike him again.

He raised his arms in defense. "No!" He shouted. "No. There is no need for you to repeat your... request. Ever. At all. Again. No. Once was enough."

"Good."

Pylack sniffled, attempting to straighten and regain some semblance of composure.

The masked visage turned toward Brego with a snap. "Conclude your business with this purveyor of purloined goods and poorly fabricated fakes. With rapid expedience."

Brego nodded with wide eyes and hearty acquiescence.

She maneuvered through the shop with all the imperiousness of an entitled royal, and with one grand sweep of her arm she cast aside the curtain of beads and exited.

Guffawing, Brego leaned against a nearby shelf to keep his legs from sagging beneath him. The desire to see Pylack trounced back into his paltry limits had been burning for too long.

"Purveyor of purloined goods? Fabricated fakes?!" Pylack's voice pitched higher with each word, his eyes twitching as they rounded into wide discs, the color rising in the hollows of his pallid grey cheeks.