C O L L E C T A B L E S

bad company

"The lady's with me. I suggest ye back off."

The mentioned shoots her an unpleasant glare. Stormy eyes like a shined blade. Pale lips drawn into a thin line. She looks at the Mercenary's arm around her waist, and chooses not to give it much thought.

The objective of her night takes a step back, mug in hand, blending himself into the crowd. Coward, the Lady thinks. The Lady also feels- knows the Mercenary has a triumphant smirk on her face. And, oh how she wishes to smack it off.

"For your knowledge, I was enjoying myself." the Lady's voice tinkles in annoyance.

The Mercenary lowers her eyes at the Lady; gold with suspicion. 

"Is 'at so?" She responds, corner of lip curling ever so slightly. The Lady bites the inside of her cheek, moving away from the large woman, causing the hand around the her waist fall to its owner's side. Unaffected, the Mercenary turns her focus onto the unattended bottle of rum that sat on the bar next to them.

"What's this?" 

The Lady tips up to her toes as the soldier swipes at the bottle. A knowingly futile attempt, but she unknowingly presses herself up against the much taller woman. Feeling the hard flesh underneath the leather gear. She smells the scent of day old sweat: musky, vulgar, arousing. The Lady blushes at her own impure thoughts; the Mercenary does not notice, too busy finishing the contents of the stolen drink.

"Ahh. That's refreshin'." The Mercenary mocks, slamming the now empty bottle down onto the wooden bar.

The Lady gives her an unimpressed look.

Without a word, the Mercenary takes her hand; gravely calloused palms, wrapped around her porcelain smooth ones. The Lady's feels the heat rush from their conjoined hands to her head as she's tugged away from the hubub.

"Where are we going?" 

"Sumwere' quiet," the Mercenary answers.

The second floor was a hallway with a series of identical wooden doors. It seemed the Mercenary had simply picked one at random, and somehow fabricated a key from thin air. The door unlocked with a soft click, its hinges creaky. The Lady is pulled in, door closing behind. She looked around: there wasn't much. 

A medium sized bed with a thin mattress in the corner of the room; a small wooden table with a chair in the center. The window barred, overlooking the street outside. The Lady walked towards the bed, choosing to sit herself down on the edge.

Soft.

"Did you steal it? This room."

"Nay, I paid fer it. The rates were cheap. "

The two women watched each other in silence, both waiting for the other to continue. The Lady felt the Mercenary's gaze trail all over her body, like many times before. Contrast to the touching, this, the Lady enjoyed secretly. The effects of the Jester's stare was that it made her body burn from inside out, which often led to the melting between her legs. The large woman's mouth opens, and the Lady thinks she is about to speak, but it simply stretches into an ugly yawn. 

"I'll leave ye to it, then." 

She was already turning to leave. Hand on the knob. The Lady stops her, frantically.

"Where are you going?"

The Mercenary turns around to  face her. "Downstairs, haven't had a good drink in ages'." A pause. "Woman too."

The Lady rolls her eyes; the Mercenary laughs.

"Ye don't need ta worry, I'll get me anotha' room."

The Lady's brother had advised them to spend their coins wisely. They only had enough pieces to last them the trip to Habiji, which was still far from where they were. With another roll of her grey-coloured eyes, the Lady asked, "Could you even afford it?"

"No one said I'd be payin' fer it." The woman answers her smugly.

The Lady crossed her arms, "So you are the kind to" love them, and leave them'? "

This made the Mercenary double over. The laughter coming out from her lips, loud and beastly. It managed to fill the dull room with a flush of vigor. The Lady watched in silence, biting the inside of her cheek again. When the soldier was done, she walked away from the door. For a brief moment, the Lady had expected her to take the space next to her, but instead, the Mercenary drags the chair to right in front of her.

"I like' dat sayin'. Ye made it up yerself?" The Mercenary asks her, large arms hugging the frame of the small chair. She had chosen the most abnormal way of sitting in a chair. Her strong legs spread wide to straddle the small thing underneath.

The Lady shifted further back into the bed. 

"No, I didn't." The Lady answered. "It's just something I heard my brother say to his lads."

The Mercenary stifled a laugh; very amused. "I fink ye should drink mor'. Yer funny dat wae, easier to get along with too."

"Are you saying I'm difficult?"

The other woman rests her chin atop her hands, shrugging her broad shoulders. "Perhaps."

The Lady involuntarily lets out a girlish scoff, which the Mercenary smiles cheekily at, infuriating the Lady more so.

"If anyone were to choose which of us were more difficult, I'm sure they'd say it's you." 

"And why is that?"