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Sun filtered through threadbare curtains, the head of Andrew's shovel glinting sharply at its soft touch. The man himself was staring blankly at the floor, perched on the edge of a pitiful bed. His body felt slow—no, heavy. It was an effort to even raise his head, though he managed. It had been a particularly monotonous loop as of late, and he'd hardly gotten any sleep through it all. Gradually, a dull ache had clawed through his stomach, and he found he couldn't ignore it a second longer.
His meagre pay clinked together in his pocket as he rose, grabbing his hat as he left. He'd hated going into town since he was a child, snot-nosed and clinging to his mother's arm. It brought just as much scorn now as it did then, despite his best efforts—keeping his head bowed, never looking anyone in the eye, perpetually set as a servant. It was easier to play a mute than a monster; after all, he'd hardly spoken to anyone after he turned twelve. There was simply no reason to.
Eventually, the bustle of the town made it difficult to continue this train of thought. It was only a quick visit to pick up maybe a loaf of bread, and nothing to be scared of, despite the feeling of sweat soaking into his jacket. Andrew found himself acutely aware that he was standing deathly still, and his breathing shallow and shaky. He quickly shifted his attention to the window of the nearest building—a bar? Here? He was never one for drinking, anyway, not that he had money to spend on liqour, so he had probably just paid it no mind—
The door swung open, and he leapt a foot in the air. All he could do was step hastily backwards, his hands clasped in front of his chest as he shut his eyes. The woman in front of him must have been the barkeep herself; and, daring to look at her again, he noticed a splatter near her eyebrow with the same ghastly pallour as his own skin. He nearly mentioned it before biting his tongue. After all, if his own complexion was proof evil flooded his veins, it would be cruel to point out Lucifer's kiss to its victim.
She leaned against the doorway, looking up at him with a warm grin and her arm raised to shield her eyes from the sunlight. "Mornin' to ya! What can I do you for?" She asked, her tone unusually chipper for someone face-to-face with a monster.
"I- I was just— sorry, I don't have money for a drink," he stammered, disuse of his voice muddling with his accent and making his words sound clumsy. "A-and I don't– I don't… drink."
She only waved him off, pushing herself off the wall. "Not to worry, darlin'! I got a lil' somethin' for everyone. 'Sides, you look awfully hungry, n' takin' care of weary souls is my business." Here, she paused, softening a bit. "Really, come on in. It's on the house, honest."
Andrew hesitated for just a moment. It would be rude to leave, despite his apprehension, and he wasn't really in a state to decline—nor was he ever—and besides, the barmaid was touched by evil as well. That united them, didn't it? To meet another like him…
The interior of the bar was nothing fancy. Hanging lights were at every turn, though currently it was lit by the usually harsh sun becoming something gentler through the glass panes. The entire place reminded Andrew more of the inns he'd read of in stories than a pub. The woman herself was already behind the counter, though she was too far for Andrew to make out what exactly she'd busied herself with.
Shortly after he was seated, she set a plate of bread and butter in front of him; along with a cup of tea and some sort of meaty stew. Andrew bit his lip, guilt over robbing someone of her profits pricking at his neck. He scratched nervously at his wrist, anticipating something—anything—that proved that this was a mockery of him; that he was stupid, or gullible, or pathetically desperate.
And yet, it never came. Instead, she nodded proudly as Andrew finally helped himself to the tea. It was hotter than he expected, and he jerked the cup from his lips with a sharp gasp. Striving to save the little dignity he kept, he gave his host a tight-lipped smile before speaking once more.
"I… uh… th-thank you. This… this is, um… very kind of you… I– I will return the favour, somehow." He swallowed thickly before continuing, "I am called Andrew. I… I upkeep the graves at the Laz Church Cemetery. They will know who you're searching for if you request it."
"Andrew, huh?" She moved to the other side of the counter, seating herself next to him and tossing her hair back over her shoulder. "Well, you can call me Demi. I opened this here bar with my brother, n' I'm lookin' after it 'til he comes back."
Demi. Her name is Demi. They've exchanged names, so…?
Andrew tried to get his thoughts in order, stalling by taking a mouthful of bread and stew. Then he realized just how good it was, and how awfully he'd needed this, and scarfed more of it down as politely as possible. He felt a bit embarrassed at the animalistic show, though Demi didn't seem to mind.
"…my apologies… this is… very– very good," he murmured, gesturing at the bowl with his head. "I… I appreciate it a lot," he added, falling silent for a moment more, then:
"I… I am also waiting to be reunited with someone."
"Ah? Y'don't say." Demi paused thoughtfully, her eyes wandering across the rows and rows of bourbons and liqours across the counter. "Funny how that works, ain't it?"
"…what?"
"That we met today! S'a fun lil' coincidence, y'know? Both of us here, together, even if it's just for the moment."
Demi's voice didn't change at all—it was still the warm, bright tone of before—but the sheer sincerity of words nearly put Andrew off. Yet, despite the everpresent alarm bells in his mind that told him to leave; that this was all temporary, and this genuinity wouldn't last, he found himself wanting to speak more. Unfortunately, his words failed him, and all he could do was nod.
"Um… y-yes, it… I…"
Another clumsy attempt. He sighed harshly, biting hard on his tongue.
"I am very glad to have met you at all," he managed, once his mind had returned to him. "Y-you– um– are… are very pleasant."
"Well, thank you kindly."
Demi chuckled softly, propping her head up on her hand, and Andrew only nodded in return. As much as he'd enjoyed this, it wouldn't be smart to linger in the bar. Drunkards had always made him anxious, and surely the place would suffer if he was around for too long.
"I will, um… take my leave." He finally rose from the stool, taking his hat from the counter. "I am, um… not… great for business," he muttered, with a hint of bitterness. Demi didn't immediately say anything, but her expression shifted to something more… sympathetic.
"Don't you worry, I won't keep you." Demi took a moment to stretch before standing from her seat as well. She grabbed the dishes Andrew had left behind, balancing them with a skilled grace. "You take care, now!"
Andrew bowed his head before leaving, squinting in the sun as his boots hit the pavement once more. Now that he'd been sated, he had no reason to stay in town… he could go out shopping another time, really. It'd be more beneficial to try and sleep as long as possible before Laz's summons.