Bloodlines

Chapter 5: A Sticky Situation

Sylvia awoke in silk sheets to the smell of burnt bacon. The sun was just starting to peek above the horizon, and Sylvia shut her eyes closed tight, rolling over to try get a couple more minutes of sleep.

"SYLVIAAAA BREAKFASSSTTT," Darian bellowed from downstairs. He had already been awake for half an hour, meticulously styling his blonde hair with gel. Sylvia groaned, but got up regardless.

Miles better than the tavern anyway, she thought to herself. She went down the stairs of the house. Darian's place was tall and skinny, squished into the small town where height was the only way to get room to move. Each bedroom had its own floor and bathroom, but the staircase was small and winding.

At the foot of the stairs she saw Fleur, Darian's younger sister, cooking at the frypan. The term "cooking" is used very loosely here, as there were billows of black smoke wafting up from the frypan, and the smell of burning. Fleur was only 15, however the Jenkins believed their children needed more time to prepare for monster slaying. Hence, she had only killed but a few normal sized wolves. Fleur spun around, her flowery dress floating around her.

"Morning Sylv!" She chanted, seeming unfazed by the catastrophe before her. Sylvia nodded a good morning back, and sat at the pine dining table next to Darian. He was still fussing over his hair, hand mirror held in front of his face as he preened. Sylvia went to ruffle up his hair with her hand, but was smacked away with lightning quick reflexes.

"Don't test me bitch," he said, while still styling his hair. Sylvia giggled, and they proceeded to try and consume the barely edible breakfast Fleur had placed before them. Although horrible, Sylvia still felt a warm fuzzy feeling inside. No one had made her breakfast, not for a very long time.

Darian and Sylvia exited the house soon after, all geared up ready for a fight. The horses were in the stables on the outer ring, so they had a lovely walk in the brisk morning air. Despite being so early in the morning, the townspeople were already hard at work and the atmosphere was bustling with life and chatter. The middle ring occupants were hard workers, textile makers, accountants, and often had to rise early to start work. Sylvia and Darian wove their way through the crowd, Darian with a bit more grace than Sylvia.

They walked past many stores, each selling something unique. A clothing store sold lavish items, coats trimmed with fox pelt, boots with sheepskin interior, fashionable items that made Sylvia's clothes look like rags. Another store sold only alcohol, and Sylvia frothed at the mouth as they passed by. Fine wines, aged ale, they sold everything at a fraction of the price Sylvia paid at the taverns in towns she had passed through.

They soon found themselves in a dank alleyway. Although Darian had assured Sylvia this was a shortcut to the stables, she was unsure and felt uncomfortable in the big city. She had heard stories about alleys like this one, and quickened her pace instinctively.

"Darian, my boy," a high pitched voice yelled from afar. At the end of the alley, blocking their way was three tall, slim gentlemen. Each was adorned in rich scarves, gemstone rings and leather boots. Even though they were middle ring citizens, it was clear they were attempting to project centre ring status.

"What do you want now?" Darian sighed. His posture visibly slumped forward, shrinking him down to Sylvia's height. It was odd to see him like this, when Sylvia was used to his usual bravado and charm. The three men strutted towards Darian and Sylvia, the middle one taking the lead. He gingerly brushed off Darian's coat, while the other two held their chin, inspecting Darian.

"Who is this? Versace?" They all hooted with laughter, and Darian shrank down further face turning crimson red.

"I'm on a job right now," he said, trying to lightly brush past. He took Sylvia's hand, pulling her along. The men sneered at them both.