ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜰᴏᴜʀᴛᴇᴇɴ: ʟᴀᴄᴏɴɪᴄ

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【act ii. suspicious minds】

"I expect you to return with both of them...or not at all."

(adj

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(adj.) expressing much in few words.

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Business was never slow. Not where I lived.

Demons either worked long, hard days for a boss that couldn't give two shits about them; turned to crime, or were simply unemployed. To my surprise, I fell under the crime umbrella. Since I've left home, I've worked as a mercenary. The hours were flexible, the pay was good, and there wasn't a demon in my town that even considered getting in my way. 

So, here's the thing: crime is extremely prevalent where I live. A powerless and bitter population? The mercenary business is booming, and I'm one of the best. The motherfuckers are basically killing themselves off.

Being one of the best in the business, I do tend to attract a lot of attention. I'm not exactly anonymous. At first, I was worried that I would slip up. Maybe my mask would break, or my skin would show, worst of all: they might smell that I'm a human. Yet, things have been going smoothly. Years of living with Sonju and Mujika has basically masked my smell, and as previously stated: no demon would ever cross paths with me. I've deduced that it's unlikely anyone would try anything, but not impossible. Always on guard, but no more than I have to be.

I ponder as I climb down from my makeshift home. A gentle breeze blows across my face, tickling my nose. I smile. I currently reside in an abandoned temple on the outskirts of the village. The occasional elder would come to worship, but it was usually pretty quiet. Not that I was there very often.

I slip on my mask and begin bounding to the town, eager to ditch this place. Today was the day I would be taking my seasonal visit to my real home, to see my parents. Everything I owned was in a small satchel on my back, covered by my cloak. It bounced with each step. In the distance, I could see the outline of stacked houses on the horizon. The sun was just barely awake. If I hurried, I could be home before it got too dark.

My attire hasn't varied much since my departure. I wear a thin layer of cloth under everything to cover any skin, a tightly cinched foundation garment above for back support, as the toll that the stilts have on my back is unreal. Additionally, I adorn myself in a scarf to conceal my hair and tattoo, thicker clothing above the first few layers of garments, and the same long black cloak. Obviously, I still wear my mask, stilts, and gloves.

The newest addition to my wardrobe would be the dual scimitars strapped to my legs. A nice replacement for the battered bow I left home with. It's considerably easier to kill demons with these blades. They're a gift from my parents, for my 20th birthday.

I enter the town through a dark alley. If I came any later, there would be booths that are borderline illegal lining the walls. I try to wrap things up quickly and walk briskly to my destination: a small booth in the center. Two elderly demons are there every Sunday, making a profit off of their pastries and loaves of bread. The first time I returned home after moving away, I brought bread from their booth to my parents. They loved it, and it's become a tradition ever since. The two demons whisper to each other as I walk up to the booth.

ꜱʟɪᴘᴘɪɴɢ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴍʏ ꜰɪɴɢᴇʀꜱ┃ɪꜱᴀʙᴇʟʟᴀWhere stories live. Discover now