Pain Plays Coy
Pain played coy with him this morning. He knew it was there, he just couldnāt quite see it. Not yet. The sound of the water outside his rickety window was too loud, splashing against the supports. Booty Bay was never, ever quiet. Everything sloshed and wobbled in this town.
Fucking rum. No. Just rum. Not nearly enough of the other.
The weak cot this place called a bed groaned just as loud as he did when he pushed up to sitting. Everything protested. The bed. The floor. His stomach. His back. The tap that shook alarmingly enough that Maths leeeeeaned away from it before it sputtered to life. Whatever. It was cold on his face.
Mornings had been earlier and earlier. Easy had promised to shave off his eyebrows if he was late this morning. He squinted into the dawn, reluctant to open his eyes more; the sun had declared war on him ages ago. He grunted his own insult back to the burning ball of betrayal.
There was a ship to catch. It was just as well, theyād scammed a little too openly last night. The cards had been so sweet though, it had been a shame to not keep going. And the drink had flowed a little too fast. The bruisers hadnāt been called, but you never knew in Booty Bay who might be coming for you in the small hours of the day.
āShitfuckhnnnnng..!ā Rimath did his best impression of the shuddering faucet from earlier as the bass fog horn from a surfacing gnomish submarine; her blaring honk a mating call to his eager hangover. Pain was no longer playing coy.
Easy, giving him another scare out of his skin--this time jumping UP rather than crumpling, where the hell had she come from?!--slapped a heavy hand on his shoulder. āThereās our ship!ā She laughed at his obvious dismay, then imitated the fog horn with startling accuracy. And volume.
Fucking Booty Bay.
Gods, he loved this town.
@daily-writing-challengeāĀ Day 16
mentions: @aezeiraāĀ āEasyā
