“So!” Zabiem turned to me with a sudden burst of cheerful energy that was more than a little alarming.

“…Soo?” I hid the look of mild fear behind a gulp of wine.

“What about your family?”

“My family?” I almost choked on my drink and managed to spit it inconspicuously back into the glass.

“Mhmm,” She leaned closer, planting her elbows upon the counter while leaning her chin atop her interlaced hands, “You do have one, right?”

“Ah, well… hah…” I drew my teeth over my bottom lip with a slight grimace, sweat already peppering my brow, “I-I mean I suppose, yes. To be honest, it’s not… I mean… I still have my sisters. Finnr… ah… Well my father’s dead… my uncles, my grandfather…” I cleared my throat, startled by the painful lump which had begun to form in my throat as flashes of my father’s face, bloody and pale, clouded my vision. My breath shook slightly as I coughed again, shifting in my seat. I didn’t dare a look at Zabiem, but there was a long pause between an almost incomprehensible murmur of apology before she spoke again, her voice now holding an edge of empathy though I appreciated the way she steered away from the subject. If she hadn’t, I certainly would have.

“You have sisters?”

“Demons, more like.”

She laughed at that and, somehow, despite it all, I found myself laughing along with her.

“I think I understand,” She admitted, and when I finally felt stable enough to look at her I was met by a sheepish smile, “I have four younger brothers and a sister-“

“-Bloody hell, how did you survive?”

“Patience and an iron fist.” She grinned, flexing the muscles of her arm impressively, but her smile slowly faded into sadness once more, “Rabina, my sister… she hasn't even seen her second birthday…”

“…I’m sorry.” I was surprised to find that I truly was. Shifting a little closer, I placed a hesitant arm around her shoulder, but it was shrugged off after only a brief moment.

“Don’t be. My family can look after themselves, and if not then my mother has enough fire in her belly to protect the lot of them. Where I come from, our women are not afraid to put up a fight.”

“I noticed.”

A flash of mirth brightened up her face, and this time she managed to maintain it as she took another sip from her glass.

“…So, what about your mother? You have not mentioned her. Is she…? She's not...?”

“Oh, she’s fine,” The lie came to my lips naturally like a well-rehearsed play, so seamlessly that I barely had to think about it before it had rolled off my tongue, “She’s currently having the time of her life in Rosasia, I suspect. On one of her annual visits. She was born there, you see? Not that you can tell from my pale complexion.”

“Rosasia?” She made a small ‘oh!’ shape with her lips, still damp with wine, but the gesture which usually had me swooning simply passed over my head, “I have never been, but I hear that it’s lovely. Perhaps we might see her on our way south, do you think?”

“Perhaps.” I smiled in echo of her own, though it shrunk away as she turned her back in the act of getting to her feet. I felt hollow.

“Well, I suppose I should get some sleep. You should too. You look exhausted.”

“Hm?” It took me a moment to process her words, my mind drifting elsewhere to a painting back home of a tanned woman with warm black eyes and rich midnight-brown hair, “Oh, I think I’ll sit up a little longer.”

My mouth tasted sour. I needed a drink. I signalled for another bottle but, after the past few nights of wanting nothing else but to choke myself with it, the idea of another sip was suddenly more repulsive to me than the truth I had been trying to drown with it.

“…You know, you never told me your name…?”

I looked up to where she hovered by the base of the stairs, brightly stained fabric draped across her shoulders like a shawl. It took me a minute to realise that I hadn’t replied.

“Corliss,” I smiled, “Cori to my friends.”

“Well, Cori…” It turns out she had a sense of humour after all, “I heard you only arranged for two rooms.”

“Seems I did. Looks like two of us will have to share, eh?” I can’t help it- even on the verge of an emotional breakdown, the impulse to flirt is impossible for me to resist.

“Looks like,” She agreed, “In that case, say goodnight to Finnr for me. I hope he isn’t a snorer.”

And on that note, she retreated up the stairs into what I had no doubt was the single room. I thought about what would await me that night and slouched across the bar, pushing empty bottles away with a rubbery hand as I groaned into my arms. I’m not sure how long I sat like that for, but it didn’t seem like much time had passed before I heard a voice muffled through the folds of my shirt.

“Corliss McClintock.”

Was that my name? My wits must have taken a surprise vacation on account of all the alcohol I had been bombarding them with lately, for all of a sudden I wasn’t even sure I could tell the difference between my head and my toes. I mumbled something into the desk, but even I wasn’t entirely sure what the hell I was saying. Had Zabiem decided to stay for another drink after all? But no, her voice wasn't that deep... or boring.

“Corliss. McClintock.” My name being ground through gritted teeth was a familiar sound, and I almost mistook it for my father until I remembered that bombshell. Something prodded savagely at my shoulder demanding my attention, so I rolled backwards and almost slid straight off my seat before slumping back onto the bar with a hollow thunk. From the coppery smell in my nose and its dull throbbing, the action had reminded it how easy it is for recently-broken noses to bleed.

“Huh…?”

Again, I made an effort to raise my head off the table to face my inquisitor, but immediately regretted it as I was met by a miasma of stale sweat. I gagged, nearly toppling from the stool again on my desperate quest for fresh air- I had never been more thankful for a blocked and bleeding nose in known memory, though breathing through my mouth was little better since the body odour was so strong that I could practically taste the tang of his armpits. I suppressed another heave of my gut and squinted up at what I expected to be a giant skunk, but which turned out to be nothing more than a man with an oily face framed by clumps of kelp-like hair and a horrifyingly low standard of personal hygiene.

“You are Corliss McClintock, are you not? Son of Malcin?” He seemed bored and repulsed, like I was piece of manure that had stuck to his boot and which he had already spent an hour trying to remove. If that was truly how he thought of me at that moment, then I don’t think I could have blamed him- I hadn’t washed nor changed my clothes for two full days, and I was fretful that I would be smelling like Larsen before long if I didn’t already. I suppressed a grimace at the thought, then nodded… or I think I nodded, but my head felt so damn heavy that I wasn’t sure I had even lifted it off my arm. He seemed to understand, however, as his bad mood broke and something like a smile split his moist lips into a slithered display of ragged teeth.

“Ah, good. Well, Corliss, you’re just the man I’ve been looking for.”

I smiled weakly. Something told me I was going to regret those three bottles before I got the chance to feel them in the morning.