Trixie answers her own question: “They would be fine. They would get over it. They would get by.
“Now how would a homeless person feel if their last roll is taken from them?” Trixie says.
Phoenix thinks.
“They will lose hope. Self-worth,” Trixie continues. “Things that cannot be bought or sold. You’re taking a bit of pie and some coins, Phoenix, you’re not ruining someone’s life.”
As Phoenix ponders this, Django asks: “Where d’ya find da fruit, mon?”
“Erm, near the stream and the cave where I first met Trixie. I kicked a tree in frustration,” Phoenix answers. “And an apple fell on my head.”
Django cackles openly at this, craning his head back, his tusks pointing up towards the ceiling. Phoenix thinks she can see a smidgen of white powder on the edge of his long nose. She starts to titter along with him, finding humour in the silliness of her earlier actions.
Trixie wears a more serious expression. She stares at the ale in her mug, swirls it around and leans back on her chair, crossing her legs and resting her boots on the edge of the table.
“Tell me, Phoenix…” she starts, looking her in the eye. “You said that you didn’t steal the fruit, that you found another way.
“But what you really mean is you found another way to steal.”
Phoenix opens her mouth, pauses and looks at Django and back at Trixie.
“I didn’t steal them,” she murmurs, low, like a contrary teenager, swinging her legs underneath the table, frowning.
It’s Trixie’s turn to giggle, her wide smile forming dimples in the sides of her green cheeks. It slips away in an instant.
“Of course ya did. I mean, you didn’t pay for them, did ya?” Trixie says.
“But,” Phoenix pleads, defiant. “I found them!”
“There’s nothing wrong with stealing, Phoenix, when the circumstances permit it. But you are resisting that fact and worse, are ignorant to the fact ya stole,” the goblin says, her voice adopting a serious edge.
Django rolls his eyes.
“Lemme guess,” Trixie says, lifting her feet from the table and leaning forward. “You also stepped over the farmer’s fence without even realising you were trespassing, and no one even noticed ya,” the goblin barks, higher in volume.
“Ya thought the trees were just there, in the wild,” Trixie continues, her tone turning sharp and hard. “Look at your fruit.”
Phoenix pulls her hood back and regards her collection properly.
“They’re ripe and delicious,” Trixie says. “You didn’t notice there weren’t any rotten fruit around. Because they pick ‘em and sell ‘em before they spoil!”
Her voice is louder now and she leans her face closer towards the elf’s. “Ya STOLE the fruit from the trees; ya just didn’t know it. You probably didn’t even see the farmer’s house behind them!”
Trixie stands on the chair and emphasises each word: “Your problem, Phoenix, is ya look. But. Ya. Do. Not. See!”
While Trixie wasn’t shouting, her voice was loud enough to break the calmness of the tavern. A few customers on other tables turn towards them.
Phoenix looks down at the floor, unsure how to respond, her ginger hair now on full show. She feels angry.
“Ya do not see,” Trixie repeats, softly, frowning herself while sitting back down and taking a swig from her cup.
At that moment, the innkeep’s eyes are on Phoenix. The ginger elf is still looking down and doesn’t notice, but Trixie - who is sitting opposite the bar - does.
An uneasy silence yawns across the tavern as the mood sours. More of the inn staff are looking suspiciously at Phoenix now, the wife whispering to her husband behind the bar. The humans are frowning at the three of them, and not in a way that’s from annoyance. The boy who was scrubbing the floor sneaks into a back room. One of the elf customers moves to the entrance.
Trixie tilts Phoenix’s chin up with her forefinger. Phoenix looks at the goblin and, from her concerned expression, feels like Trixie knows more than she should. Phoenix is a wanted elf, but Trixie doesn’t know that. Right?
“We’re leaving,” Trixie whispers, quietly enough just for Django and Phoenix to hear. “I don’t ignore my instincts. Run along back to the hideout, alone. At once. Do not lead anyone there.”
Django stands. Phoenix grabs the bag of fruit and power walks to the exit, bumping into a chair as she does so, spilling an apple, which breaks the silence as it rolls noisily on the wooden floorboards towards the entrance. An elf lifts the toes of his boots up and pushes down on the apple to stop it rolling. He slides the bolt of the door, locking it shut.
Trixie loudly slaps some coins down onto the counter in an attempt to draw attention away from the bumbling elf and pay for her meal.
“She’s that girl!” the innkeep shouts, pointing at Phoenix. “She’s a murderer!”
Phoenix suppresses the feeling of nausea and panic, but cannot stop her heart thumping with adrenaline as she reaches the exit and freezes. Phoenix doesn’t see the stunned look on Django and Trixie’s faces behind her, or the family move away from the commotion in fright. She doesn’t see two men and a couple of elves stand from their table opposite Trixie, nor does she notice Django pull a hidden blow dart out of his pocket, or Trixie touch the hilt of her sword. She dares not even look up at the tall elf blocking the door in front of her; she stares at the door handle instead. Phoenix doesn’t know what to do.
“Please calm down everyone, I’m sure there’s been a misunderstanding,” Trixie says, looking around the room and smiling her most charming of smiles.
“You’re not going anywhere either, Trixie,” the innkeep bellows as he slams his fist down onto the bar, “until you’ve explained why you’re in the company of a murderer on the run!”
Trixie and Django look at one another, utterly perplexed, as the family at the other table stand, moving away from Phoenix towards the corner of the room, their faces gripped with fear and worry; one of their young children starts to cry. The father lifts the boy up and holds him close, while the mother takes the other child’s hand, a look of confusion strewn across the little elf’s face.
“What? I can assure you, Balthuel, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Trixie responds. “This girl works for me. And she’s far too nice to be a murderer.”
Trixie laughs confidently, but stops abruptly when she realises no one is laughing with her.
The innkeep contorts his face in anger, his wife folding her arms as she stares Trixie down.
“She savagely murdered one of your kind and somehow escaped Silvermoon,” Balthuel adds, as if Phoenix isn’t in the same room. “Half the city is talking about it, the troubled girl that battered the victim to death. He was an inkeep like me! We are not safe here, standing around arguing about it in her company. The royal guard informed us and the surrounding villages in Eversong earlier today.
“King Anasterian doesn’t like unrest in his city. The royal guard would probably pay for information of her whereabouts, or for turning her in…”
One of the humans steps towards Trixie. “And we could use the coin,” he says in a gruff voice.
Trixie shows mild shock mixed with a dash of cheekiness. “Free coin does sound good… but I’m afraid you must be mistaken, good sirs,” she says, standing.
“Why not? How do you know her?” the gravelly-voiced man responds.
“She’s been doing some work for me, for a few weeks now,” Trixie replies with assurance. “She’s been nowhere near Silvermoon. She’s not your girl, guys. Why would I lie to you? I’m a regular.”
The innkeep ponders for a moment, the awkward silence of the room returning. He adds: “We know the type of people you deal with, Trixie.”
Django sneers at the inkeep.
“Plus,” Balthuel continues, leaning onto the bar with both his fists. “She fits the description. Her size, her hair. And I heard you call her by the name the guards mentioned: Phoenix. We’re to hold her here and inform the guards. No negotiating this time, Trixie.”
Phoenix closes her eyes and lowers her head slightly, her heart racing another notch. She’s had enough of listening, of letting fate drag her down a path where she’ll end up in prison, or worse.
Phoenix kicks the groin of the elf in front of her, who winces and cries out. She pushes him weakly but it’s enough for him to tumble onto the floor, knocking over a chair on the way. Phoenix fumbles for the latch on the door. Trixie frowns, sighs and leans her head back in frustration.
“Stop her!” Balthuel shouts.
Everyone in the tavern rushes towards Phoenix except the cowering family in the corner. The two men and elves standing by the table in the middle of the room dash towards Phoenix, as does the innkeep, who scurries over the bar. The young elf with the family in the corner starts to cry loudly.
Trixie grabs Balthuel’s arm as he passes, the innkeep pulling away in response before attempting to tackle Trixie to the ground. She springs backwards and kicks upwards, booting Balthuel’s chin. As she does so, one of his teeth goes flying towards the ceiling. The innkeep’s wife dashes around the bar to aid him.
As this is happening, a human passes by Django, who sticks out a foot. The man trips over and flies face-first into the wooden floor, crying out in pain. The other human, distracted by this, redirects his focus towards Django and Trixie, throwing a fist at the troll’s head. The troll darts his face away from the blow with surprising agility and headbutts the man in the nose, a tusk scraping the man’s face in the process. He then punches the human across the jaw with brute strength, the uppercut knocking him clean out.
“Stop! Stop!” Balthuel screams at the top of his voice, while lying in pain on the floor and covering his bloody mouth. But the commotion is too loud, the sound of bodies hitting chairs and tables and sudden movement creating a chaotic situation. The young elf in the corner is now half-crying, half-screaming with fright.
Phoenix, by this point, has managed to release the stubborn latch and opened the door, but just as she dashes to leave, she’s grabbed around the chest with two arms by the one elf who managed to reach her. The other elf, still stunned and winded by Phoenix’s groin-kick, slowly stands.
“Let go of me!” Phoenix cries, struggling to wriggle free of the elf’s grasp.
Django moves the pipe to his mouth and blows. A tiny dart flies through the air into the back of the elf who has his arms wrapped tightly around Phoenix.
The innkeep’s wife, meanwhile, has rushed around the bar with a bottle raised high, swinging it Trixie’s way.
“Get away from my husband!” she yells at Trixie.
“Don’t worry, he’s not my type,” Trixie responds calmly, swishing her sword from its holster and poking the bottle from the woman’s hand with the tip of her sword. The bottle smashes and beer sprays over both of them, glass cutting into the arm of the innkeep’s wife, who stumbles backwards onto the floor.
Django’s tranquilliser dart takes effect on the elf by the door, who slowly loses consciousness and loosens his grip on Phoenix, slumping backwards. Phoenix runs out into the street, the other winded elf limping after her. The family also take the opportunity to flee the tavern, the father holding his crying son in his arms.
The man who was tripped by Django stands and regains his balance, turning to face the troll and Trixie in a fighting stance. He glances at the bodies around him, some knocked out, some injuring and writhing in pain, and looks back at Django and Trixie as he reconsiders.
Django raises his hands; Trixie smiles a wide grin. The man backs away and takes a seat, raising his hands, admitting defeat.
Trixie walks towards the back of the silent inn, looking for something closely on the floor, as Django puts away his blow dart.
“Aha,” Trixie says to herself. She bends down and picks up a small item from the floor.
Trixie slowly walks towards Balthuel, who is still lying on the floor, holding his hands up in defense as she approaches.
She pulls out a few silver coins, and places them in a pile beside the inkeep, resting a solitary tooth on top of them.
“Thanks for the lunch,” she says. “And sorry about the tooth.”
Trixie looks around. “And the mess. But she’s not your girl, and your ‘customers’ attacked first. We simply acted in self-defense.”
Balthuel frowns and clenches his teeth with despair. Django stifles a laugh as the pair move to the exit.
Two battle mage guards dressed in blue regalia and silver armour rush into the tavern, led by the innkeep’s son.
“Oh tinker my town and paint me pink, what now?” Trixie asks.
“There they are!” the boy shouts, pointing at Django and Trixie. “Those are the two who were with the girl. Where is she?”
The guards look around for her. One says to Trixie and Django assertively: “You’re coming with us.”
“We’ve done nothing wrong, these customers attacked us after throwing false accusations our way…” Trixie trails off.
The guards move towards the pair, one towards Django, the other towards Trixie.
.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-.
Outside, Phoenix is on the run again, her red hair flowing through the wind as she dashes through the streets. The male elf injured by her kick to the groin has recovered somewhat and is keeping pace with her, but there is some distance between the two due to Phoenix’s head-start. He keeps his eyes focused on her red hair and does his best to follow her as she darts in between passers by; the occasional building or tree blocking his view.
All Phoenix can think of is Trixie’s words looping over and over in her mind: ‘Bad fortune will catch up with you.’
She tries to shake them out of her mind. Feeling futile, anger simmers inside of her as she runs.
All of a sudden, a child pulling along a toy cart appears from the side of a building and into Phoenix’s path. There is another kid sitting in the cart, being pulled along. Unable to slow her momentum, Phoenix decides to take a risk and keep travelling dead ahead, jumping over the cart and the child within it, who is sitting upright.
She takes a leap, to the gasps of those nearby, who expect the young girl to collide with the cart and cause an accident, harming the children.
As Phoenix jumps, she arches her back and lifts her legs as high as they will allow, like a long jump. Her boot narrowly passes the head of the child in the cart, flicking his long elf ear instead.
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