When Sabre and Al returned downstairs, he casually grabbed several chucks of moldy firewood from the storage room and chucked them into a wood-burning stove near the front door. After squirting a generous supply of lighter fluid, he handed her a box of matches.
“Do you... want me to light it?” Sabre was curious. It was freezing in the shop, but it obviously didn’t bother Al at all, considering he’d been wearing short sleeves this whole time.
Is he wanting a fire for me? But... why make me light it myself? Is this some kind of weird power-trip for him?
“Are you cold or not girlie?” he asked, somehow looking bored and impatient at the same time.
“Don’t call me that,” Sabre struck a match and threw it into the stove. It burst into flames with a *FWOOSH*
Al, who had steadily moved away from the stove and back behind the counter, flinched. It was a tiny, nearly unnoticeable reaction, but Sabre did notice.
“So!” Al leaned on his elbows over the contract on the desk smiling in a jesting manor, “Do you... need me to read it to you?”
“I most certainly do not!” Sabre snatched to contract from underneath him and began to examine it where she had left off earlier.
“Whatever,” Al shrugged, “You’re too proud.”
“Excuse me?” she’d been pegged. Sabre was proud.
“It’s obvious you’re a foreigner,” he said pointedly, “There are thousands of languages spoken all over the world. You can’t reasonably be offended by the insinuation of not being able to speak, read and write, in every single one of them.”
The fact that he was right only pissed her off more, “Oh yeah? So just how many languages do you speak, huh?”
“Thirteen,” he answered casually, while removing his vest and loosening his buttons.
What a fucking liar, Sabre thought, and what is he DOING? Is he actually getting HOT?
“And you?”
Sabre blinked.
“And you?” Al repeated, picking up his video game controller, “How many languages do you speak?”
Seriously? Sabre doubted he was just making casual conversation; he just wanted to prove he knew more than her.
“What does it matter?” she retorted, “I can read English, so just let me read it then.”
Al smirked. Seven. Sabre could speak seven languages fluently... and up until this very moment she had thought quite highly of herself for being able to do so. Frustrated, she glanced around for somewhere to sit and settled on a velvet Victorian-looking chair by the stove. It was actually quite pretty at first glance, but the moment she sat down she practically gagged. It REEKED. She wrapped her headscarf over her nose and continued to read the contract.
Most of it, from what she could understand, seemed standard; six-month lease, rent due on the first, etc. She would receive ONE key, that opened the door to the stairs and the door of the bedroom which led down a metal staircase on the side of the house. Sabre remembered seeing it outside when she has first approached the building. She scoffed again. It was obviously an old fire-escape that’d been welded into place.
Other terms, though, were a little more... odd. For example, she was not allowed to make a copy of her key for any reason. She was not allowed to bring people into the building without permission. She was not allowed to have candles or fire of any kind. The basement was strictly off limits, and she was not to be in the store unsupervised; entering either would be considered trespassing and a breach of contract.
Whatever, Sabre had actually grown quite warm sitting by the fire. As she got up she took off her heavy coat and her flannel shirt, leaving just her old t-shirt with the ripped-off sleaves.
“Woah,” Al giggled as she approached the desk, “Somebody call the fasion police, hahaha.”
“Real creative,” Sabre retorted, as Al’s eyes darted to the armband fastened around her bicep, “This part, right here. What’s this about a deposit?”
“What about it? It’s normal to ask for a deposit upfront.”
“Can I put in on my card?”
“You see a credit card terminal ‘round here?” Al held firm, “Cash. Only.”
“But I don’t have any cash! And uh... I need a place to stay, like tonight,” She was not about to let Sister Tulla sleep on the couch again.
Al took another long deep breath through his vape pen and held it in for as long as he could before letting it pour out of his mouth like a waterfall when he finally opened it to speak again.
“How ‘bout that then?” he pointed casually at her arm, “Nice little trinket, is it real silver?”
Sabre slapped her hand over it, “No way. It’s uh... Well, it was my father’s.”
Dammit, Al thought, frustrated, Shoulda’ known it woulda’ never been that easy. It was worth a shot though. But now... this complicates things. I can’t let her get away. UGH.
“Okay, okay, whatever,” he backed off, trying his damnedest to make it sound like he couldn’t give two shits about her choice in jewelry, “How ‘bout this then, first rent that’s due, you’ll pay double to cover the deposit. Fine?”
Sabre side-eyed him suspiciously.
“What?” Al asked innocently, “You doubt my naturally generous and caring nature?”
“Yeah. I do.”
“Sign it, and the key is yours,” Al said nonchalantly, “Or leave.”
Sign it, sign it, sign it, Al was internally begging for her to not call his bluff.
Before his anxiety could show though, Sabre scribbled her name on the paper, and held out her hand, “The key, if you please.”
“Honey!” Rhoda called up the stairs to her husband, “Honey! We’re missing two! C’mon!”
Rhododendron Wren and Lewis Campell had only been married for about six months, but the honey-moon phase had been almost non-existent, too much work to do on the farm.
“I’m coming, I'm commi- OW! Son-of-a-” Lewis banged his head on the low-handing door frame at the bottom of the stairs, almost tripping over the two Australian Shepard dogs who were eagerly doing figure-eights around and in-between his legs.
“Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry, are you okay?” Rhoda placed her hand on his forehead.
“It’s fine, I'm fine, just a bump on the noggin,” Lewis, the town’s unofficial veterinarian, brushed her off, “Two sheep less then, you counted? Why didn’t you send Star and Lucy after them?”
Lewis attempted, unsuccessfully, to settle down the two rowdy dogs running amok through the house, trying to get them out the back door and into the sprawling pasture behind their home.
“No, two chickens,” his wife corrected.
“Chickens? UGH! You cannot be serious!”
“Oh, but I am.”
Lewis turned on his heel and stormed out the back door to the house next door. He stomped past the rows of chicken coops, still in his long johns, and started banging his fist on the front door of the neighboring house. Nothing. His frustration was met with serene silence. His blood began to boil. He scooted aside a clay pigeon that sat near the doorstep and snatched the key from under it.
“Jasper!” Lewis swung open the door, “Jasper!”
“Shhh!” Lewis’ younger brother came trotting down the stairs wearing Star Wars pajamas and some impressive bed head, “You’ll wake Miss White~”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake Jasper, who gives a shit about your stupid cat?”
Jasper gasped and clutched his chest.
“Oh stop! You’re missing two chickens. Rohda counted heads while collecting the eggs this morning. Do you even have any idea what time it is?”
“Clearly not early enough for you to have changed pants," Jasper jabbed, "Besides, what do you expect from the owner of the world’s only mute Rooster?”
“Alarm clocks exist Jas, use ‘em. Now where are the hens?”
“Owls?” Jasper coyly suggested.
Lewis just crossed his arms and stared, hard, burning an imaginary hole into his brother’s forhead.
“Ughhh, fine, FINE,” Jasper rolled his eyes, “But it wasn’t my fault I swear! Olly and I were down at the pub-”
“Fucking Christ, Jas,” Lewis dropped his arms and looked up at the ceiling in desperation, “Why does every story start out with those EXACT words?”
“Wait-! L-listen, just listen! I’ll skip the story-”
“Good, ‘cuz it’s probably dumb as hell, and I don’t care. Get back to your excuses for fucking your ONE fucking job around this place. Where. Are. The. Chickens. Jasper.”
“It was Olly! Olly let them out last night! All of ‘em! I was chasing them down all through the night! T- till sunrise, I swear! I coulda’ swore I got ‘em all...”
“Well, you DIDN’T!” Lewis went out the door her came, still fuming.
At the mission, Sister Irena was pacing up and down the pews, while Tulla sat silently and read.
“You’ll wear out the carpet at this rate,” Tulla quietly commented.
“Bah! It’s already worn out.”
“If you’re so worried Sister, go look for her.”
“I will then!” Irena threw her arms in the air, exasperated. She shoved on her boots and threw her cape over her shoulders.
“Have fun!” Tulla called after her as she walked out the door.
In truth, Tulla was a little worried herself. Sabre hadn’t returned at all last night after she had left to look for a place to stay. But Tulla had assessed her to be a reasonable and independent young lady. Her ever-shining optimism simply led her to believe that Sabre had been successful in her quest. Irena, however, was quite the opposite, always jumping to the worst-case scenario.
I suppose Father Allen was right all those years ago; we do make a good pair... Tulla thought to herself while folding the book, a Hebrew version of the Torah, and setting it on the pew, before she bustled off to tend to the chores that Irena would have normally been doing at the time.
Meanwhile, Sister Irena trudged downhill toward downtown but suddenly stopped when she heard yelling across the fields towards the Campell’s homestead. She turned to see Lewis stomping past their chicken-wire fences from Jasper’s house to his.
“Wait! C’mon Lewis!” Jasper called after his brother, “You get SO upset over the tiniest thing! We have more than thirty chickens!”
“Thirty-seven!” Lewis stopped in his tracks to retort, “Now, thirty-FIVE!”
“We’ll hatch more!”
“Oh yeah?! Tell me! When was the last time that decrepit old cock of yours knocked up any one of them?”
“Now that’s just uncalled for,” Jasper crossed his arms, “The rooster doesn’t go around pointing out your insecurities.”
“This isn’t a joke, Jas! Every hen, every egg, COUNTS! Do you have any idea how many eggs the Smith’s go through trying to keep that- that- THING down by the harbor FED?!”
“He has a name...” Jasper mumbled, defeated.
The rest of their conversation drifted away in the wind, the light dusting of snow from yesterday twirling over the feilds.
Sister Irena doubled her pace.
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