Sabre found herself looking over the paperwork, unwilling to admit that she was having difficulty understanding it.
Who hand-writes official documents like this anymore? Sabre groaned, frustrated, And in cursive no less. Ugh.
It wasn't even that the hand-writing was poor. In fact, it was practically chaligraphy, which made it even more difficult. English wasn't her first language, and she had only ever read things in print. She hated her incompetence more with every passing second. How was it that she could type almost two-hundred words per minute, but she couldn't get through a simple three-page document?
"Oh for fuck's sake!" Al finally snapped, "You can't read can you??"
"Shut up! I can read just FINE!"
From his expression, it was clear the Al did not believe her. A few more minutes passed, and the silence became suffocating. The wind whistled outside. Did she really want to sign this thing? It was true, she didn't have anywhere to go or anything to do, but stay HERE? This place was unbarable. Sabre didn't belong here. Everything was so dark and cold and miserable. And so was he, pale and sickly and greasy-haired. Everyone in this town was a walking stereotype, a living cliche; it disgusted her. They were all just a bunch a brash, loud white people without an ounce of class or subtlety. Well, fine. She could play that too.
Sabre looked the young man square in the eyes, "You. You're dangerous. Aren't you?"
Al was momentarily taken aback by her bluntness but managed to casually reply while twirling his hair innocently and looking up towards the shelves, "Well...that depends on who you ask I suppose."
He shrugged off her direct advance. She wasn't going to let him get away with it.
"I'm not asking other people what they think. I'm asking you."
Al found himself suddenly speechless. Nobody had ever asked him before if he thought of himself as dangerous. The question itself was like a punch to the gut. He ran his fingers through his long black hair, and made yet another attempt to dodge her question.
"Me?" he mused innocently, deciding to turn on the charm, rather than face her inquiry head-on. Tip-toeing around these kinds of conversations had become his specialty in recent years, "Why, I'd never hurt a fly-"
"Liar."
Damnit, Al thought to himself, suddenly reconsidering whether or not he wanted her money after all, She's not here for the bullshit.
"Fine," Al crossed his arms, "Here's the long n' short of it little lady. What benefit would there be for me to harm someone I'm makin' money off, hm?"
Sabre rolled the idea over in her head. He was right. Even if he was the village freak, a creepy low-life capable of God knows what, he clearly had a number one concern: money. But would it be enough to keep her safe? Sabre had already taken many gambles with her life, even some that she had hoped to lose.
What's one more?
"Fine," Sabre leaned in, "Then, would you care to show me around upstairs before I decide?"
An unnaturally wide grin crept across his face as he motioned with one arm toward the back corner of the shop.
"My dear," his green eyes shining, "I would be my genuine pleasure."
His tone sent a shiver down her spine.
At the pub, Earnestine Wren stuffed a huge slice of pizza in her mouth as he endured yet another scolding from Astrid.
"This is a business! We sell food too! You can't just come in here and order fucking pizza delivery!" she shouted taking off her apron and throwing on the ground, "This isn't your fuckin' house or lame-ass tea shop!"
Wendy Duffy sat silently next to Earnie, avoiding eye-contact as Astrid fumed. Earnie was unfazed. He chewed and swallowed.
"But... you guys don't sell pizza."
"Then go to the damn pizza place!"
"But... they don't sell beer."
Astrid stood, hands on her hips. Her eye began to twitch.
"I'll kick you out! I swear I will!" an empty threat. The Smiths had never kicked anyone out of the pub, ever. It was as holy of a actuary as the church.
"Listen," Earnie said, taking a huge gulp of beer, "You guys are missing a huge business opportunity here. I'm tellin' you, nothing goes together better than beer and pizza."
"Wen!" Astrid turned her attention to the shy redhead, "How do you put up with this bullshit?!"
"Oh um..." Wen stammered, "Are we... are we being kicked out then?"
Astrid paused, and snatched up her apron, "Ugh!! No."
Earnie smirked for a split second before Astrid retorted, "But I will CUT. YOU. OFF!"
Earnie gasped, as if Astrid had threatened their very lives.
"You wouldn't!"
"I would!"
Astrid's mother, Dagmar, suddenly appeared in the kitchen window, "You girls knock it off right now or I'll phone your parents this instant, I swear I will! Too damn early in the day of all this nonsense!"
"S-sorry Mrs. Smith," Earnie shrank in his seat.
"Astrid!" Dagmar called from the kitchen, "What smells like pizza?"
Astrid gave Earnie a toxic glare.
"Eh... heh?" Earnie shrugged, "...want a slice?"
Al led Sabre to the back of the shop and through a doorway into what she could only imagine was the storage room, piled high with mildew-riddled boxes, cobwebs in every corner, and lined with meat lockers against every wall.
"What on earth are all those meat lockers for?"
Al glanced back at her, "Meat."
Yeah, but why are they locked? Sabre was sure of it now. This guy was totally gonna' kill her.
Al motioned towards a wrought-iron spiral staircase in the back corner of the room.
"After you."
Sabre looked it up and down. Above it led to a loft area, but it also continued downward to a basement. There was a circular door on the floor with yet another lock on it, two in fact, and a deadbolt as well.
"What’s down there?"
"That's my place."
"You live in the basement?"
"Do you always ask so many questions?"
"Yes," Sabre answered honestly.
Al let out and exasperated sigh, "C'mon."
He took the steps two at a time with his long thin legs. She stared and took note of just how tall this guy actually was.
Maybe he really is older than he looks, he reminded Sabre of a spider as he crawled up and around the creaking staircase. She followed.
Once upstairs, he reached up and pulled a twine chord that illuminated a single bright lightbulb hanging from the ceiling in the center of the room. The light did nothing to warm the room, which somehow seemed even colder than it was outside. Sabre looked up to discover angled boards that were so warped in some places they revealed the sheet-metal roof. The ceiling was so low that Al’s head could have probably touched it if he ever stood up strait, which he didn't.
There was a counter with a sink, a hot plate and a coffee maker. Above them hung a set of precariously perched cabinets. Sabre didn’t have the courage to peek inside them just yet. Two chairs were scooted under a small table just under triangle-shaped window. The linoleum floor was yellowed and peeling. Everything was covered in a thin layer of dust. This was clearly just an attic that someone had made barely livable.
"Charming," Sabre rolled her eyes toward her would-be landlord.
"Isn't it, though" Al replied wearing a wistful smile, without a hint of sarcasm, while looking out the window which overlooked the muddy street. It had started snowing.
Sabre’s eyes scanned the countertop and settled on a large mason jar filled with... what the fuck...?
“What...is...THAT?”
“Hm?” Al looked over her shoulder, “Oh, lutefisk.”
Sabre examined it carefully and determined it was some sort of pickled or brined fish.
“This is where my sister would stay when she used to visit,” Al explained, “It’s hers.”
Huh, I guess even weirdos like this guy have family, she mused, ...except me. Maybe I'm the wierd one.
Sabre wiped some dust off the lid of the jar with her finger, “I... take it she hasn’t been to visit in while?”
“Yeah, well,” he shrugged, “She’s got her own responsibilities... out of town...”
Al, normally completely composed, suddenly looked uncomfortable. Sabre guessed he was on bad terms with his family. Perhaps he really was a criminal.
Well... that would make two of us, she silently admitted to herself.
Or maybe he was just gay or something? She had no idea. Her own family, or lack thereof, was not exactly anything she was planning on discussing, so she happily let it go.
She wandered into the bedroom, which would have likely seemed much bigger if not for the fact that every inch of every wall was lined from floor to ceiling with book shelves, jam packed.
Well, at least I’ll have something to keep me busy.
There was a metal-framed twin bed against one wall that looked only slighter more comfortable than the one she’d been sleeping in at the mission. She opened the small closet to reveal only two simple dresses, for a young woman about her size. It reeked of moth balls.
“Bathroom’s through there,” Al jerked his thumb over his shoulder, pointing behind him, and Sabre walked past.
To say that it was cramped would have been an understatement. There was a small shower stall, and a rusty sink that sat so close to the toilet it was practically on top of it. She looked the toilet up and down with equal parts disgust and curiosity. It was something out of a history book, with the actual water tank positioned above where the person would sit. Rather than a flushing handle at the base, there was a rusted chain with a splintered wooden handle hanging from the water tank.
Sabre took the wooden handle at the end of the chain and gave it a gentle yank. Waterworks sputtered and gasped from within the walls, as the chain itself gave way and snaped in her hands.
With a raised eyebrow she turned back to Al, who was leaning against the doorframe, looking uninterested. He glanced over to see her standing by the toilet with the handle in her hand and the rest of the ancient chain hanging limp, dangling just above the floor. He hesitated.
“Uh... I’ll fix that.”
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