It was only sex. It wasn’t like it had meant anything. Nothing important, not after Val had left. She was gone by morning; out of the house and off to make her rounds again.
But now her blood was caking over Faith’s hands. Her bleak eyes stared up at him, plastered in fear— they pierced his soul. So blue, with that flaming orange hair all tangled about her georgeous, bruised features…
Earlier in that unforgettable morning, he had been awoken by a pounding knock at the door, as if someone was trying to break it down. With a start, he had gotten himself up and stumbled into some pants. No matter the fact that they were backwards, they served their purpose.
He combed back his disheveled hair and snugged his revolver into the back waistband of his pants, shambling towards the door to open it up and stare at the nothingness that greeted him— until he looked down.
On the topmost step was a sack; burlac, simple and unassuming besides the rust-red smear it left on the cobbles as the elf cautiously lifted it off the floor. It was heavier than he thought it to be— smelled of iron and acrid perfume and smoke.
His heart was racing and twanging with pain as he turned and stepped back inside, to the kitchen. His tired eyes were now wide awake as he stared at the sack.
Bile built in the back of his throat as he undid the twine with quivering hands, the satchel unfurling open to allow the elf a peek inside.
Orange. All he saw was matted, clumped and mangy orange strands of hair… He knew what it was, he knew as he pulled the sack apart further and pushed it to the counter— he knew what he would see.
Her makeup was smudged worse than it had been the previous night, when last Faith saw her. Her lips were bruised and had been bleeding, her nose was crooked out of shape… but it was her, it was. Nailed to her forehead was a hastily scribbled note on yellowed parchment;
“You have enough to pay this whore and not us?”
He left the head, the note, and the sac all lying there as he ran back to his room, bloody hands clawing through his bag as he grabbed his own personal comm.
He couldn’t reign in his voice, everything just spilled out as he opened his mouth. “G-Gale— Gale I need— I need you to come here— now. I’m— I’m in deep shit, Gale, deep, eye-high shit…” Before the other man could respond, he clicked off his comm and slunk back towards the kitchen.
He yanked the bag back over her head, hiding those fearful eyes before he moved to start washing his shaking hands in the sink, looking away from the crimson waters.
