Chapter Text
The buzzing streets of citizens clashes their hurried steps on the parched sand. Fortunately, in this time of year, many Inphernals can feel the autumn breeze in the blaze of the sun, and only gets colder at night. Drifting restlessly through the desert, like a tumbleweed soaring through its journey.
Open air markets are the places where it's being filled by foreigners and natives exchanges goods and treats. Nothing beats making a few couple bux to survive off life. Once a customer got their eyes hooked on the prize, the seller's paycheck worths a fortune.
"Ooh! An' that's the last batch fer today!" A seller places down a crate of spices next to the rear of the stand, the wind howl soundly within the cover above the stall. The seller stretches their arms, then relaxed back to their hips while they contemplate on their "opponents".
"If we get ta sell off this remainin' batch fer this evenin', we set fer t'night! Ain't that right, Scythe?" A voiced cheer rang from the back, it's source coming into view behind the curtain of the stand. They tipped their hat to the seller at the counter, a brief smile dazzled on their face.
"Ya got that, Hook! If those outsiders came to us again..." She looked over to the nearby Inphernals, possibly staring at their stand. She calculates in her mind when's the person going to take a look at their stall, step by step...
The person gradually approaches the stand, the pieces of jewelry dangling from his head - seemingly flaunting with his prestigious image. He lean over on the stand, nails only catered to his sight without nervousness.
"Get me all the spice you have. Wrap it up and leave no air bubbles in it and pack it up in one of those fancy box with gold linings." He did a hair flip to the seller, and shoot her an icky glance. "I- uh. We don't do packagin'. We only store these in linen bags." The seller looked dumbfounded, she raises her brow at the supposed description the customer gave.
"What?! What is this? The 40'??? I am not here for some piracy shit or the feudalism era, I'll have you know." He sway their ring worn finger to her face, a scrunched up look was there in a second. "Look, if ya don't want any traditional "packaging", ya will gladly leave our stand if it bothers you so much." The assistant takes over the seller's spot to face the troublesome customer.
"Hey! That's not how to treat your damn custo-" "Leave." A sharp metal hook was pointed at their throat, threatening for the outcome of this argument. When stood below a tiny Inphernal, most likely a newspawn at their stand. The duo immediately turned their attention to the little kid.
"Oi, lil' one! Did yer caretaker send ya out to get groceries?" The seller looms over the kid, displaying a more cheerful smile at her. "Ya! Uhh...Ma wanted a... ci-na-mine roll...? Salt, lemongrass n'...bye leaves?" The newspawn spread out a folded paper that was on her hand, butchering half of the name on the list. The assistant giggled at the innocent behavior before sinking back to the stand to get the spice she needed.
"Huh? You're prioritizing this annoying kid over a rich person like me?! I'm going to tell everyone about this trashy customer service, just you wait!" He practically screamed at their faces while pointing at the child with insulting manners. The child nearly flinched and almost cried on the spot. "Leave my fuckin' customer alone." The seller hissed, teeths clenched with anger, fist tighten up as it turns white.
The rich person shoots a "Hmph." at her as a last warning before storming away from the stand, the jewelries jiggles synchronized with his irritation on the way. The child felt even smaller, a look of terror on the scary encounter she had just now.
"U-Uhm...ma'am? He was so scary..." She holds on the paper like a stuffed teddy bear. "Oh, don't worry dear. We get people like that all the time. Don't mind 'em, sweetie." As she finished her sentence, her assistant came out with four bag in their hands, tying off the remaining open bag.
"Ya got trouble on yer tail, just tell us! We prioritize our customers worries 'ere." They handed over the bag to the little kid to carry, counting the price for all of them. The kid held up the money she had to the counter, not knowing how to count them. The seller skimmed over the amount, the extra bux is given back to the child.
The child happily receives the money and skips away to - probably - a candy stand. The both of them sighed in relief, another satisfied customer! (They are not gonna talk about that rich person.) They waited at the stall until the coast is cleared out, not too many potential customers in their sight.
She take cares of the covers and curtain while they carries out the empty crates, closing for the day. Once their finished, they wipe away the sweats that's been building up on their skin, the weather never spares the civilians the mercy.
She hoists the fabric on her shoulder, she looked back at her friend and bid fair well, parting ways. Everyday was always like this, they import, they sell, they split the money. She and them were great friends, close friends in fact. They'd always look up to eachother, having meaningless conversations, comforting when one's sad. They've never inquire eachother what it means to be friends with oneself. Maybe, just maybe...
She settled down her belongings on the sand temporarily to search for the keys. A creature on the side hauled forward, but was stuck by a restrain, unclear if it's excited to see it's owner back home or blood thirsty. Or perhaps it's the jiggle of the key is making it mutinous.
"Now, now darlin'. Mother is not yer food, remember?" She states firmly, but a slight hint of reassurance lies deep in her voice, if her Oziphrage can sense it. Whenever or not it can, it seems to calm down a bit, it's beak trying to say something but clamped shut by the muzzle. "I'm gon' treat ya, 'kay? I got decent money to buy things today." The door finally budged open, and the sound of her heels changed greatly against the wooden floor. She picked up the belongings on the sand before stepping in her house completely.
She stretches again and take off her poncho along with the comically large bandana, covered off the pegs with her clothing. The rolls of fabric tilts still on the wall she went over to her kitchen to prepare the bucket of (rotten) meats for her pet.
There wasn't much to prepare anyways, since the Oziphrage likes the meat raw with all it's nutrients (the rot is to make it flavorful, she guesses). She takes out the metal rod between the counter top and the fridge, then stab a piece of meat, creating a giant, foul smelled version of a barbecue skewer.
The bucket travels out of the house again, then being placed slightly farther from the Oziphrage reach. She cautiously lowered its muzzle a bit, its beak opened wide and dangerous for dinner. She brings up the meat on a stick toward it's sight. In a hitch, the meat was gnawed up completely in its jaws, and before she knows it, it screeches out for more.
She takes it the thrill of the vile creature in front of her, skewered another piece on the rod and bring it up to its jaw again. The feeding steps repeats until the bucket is devoid of meal. The rod is extended to pull muzzle up its beak, shutting it up again. She cautiously approach the Oziphrage and give it a good pet on its head, then ruffling its feather since it's a favorite of it.
She retreats back to her bucket and cleans up swiftly on her way to the door entrance. All the items set aside, she rinses her hand under the cold running faucet.
She lays down on the bed, exhausted from the heat all day. She hasn't shower, yet. She feels all musky from the sweats, her body tossed over to her pillow, and snatched it to her grasp. She thought about them, about how they were brave to handle that troublesome customer and other customers. And thinks it was...endearing? To have their own words as weapons to steer away the negativity, words as solace to rear in the positivity. How adorable...
Friends forever?
...
No, they're just friends. Friends don't think like that. Do they...? No, maybe not. She catches herself drifting her mind off to a different place than usual. Romatic relationships are considered rare in this society, specially Inphernals are known for being vile and hostile, regardless of region. Well, perhaps the exceptional main city, Crossroads, which connect all the region by bridges, also the safest place out of all the places in Inpherno. Only balanced by the (almost) fair law. But other than that, the legal system in its entirety, is messed up.
Back to her senses, she somehow feels heavier than usual, like the bed is keeping her from getting up. She remembered she hadn't shower, she must've looked like a sick mess right now. She tries pushing off the the blanket on her weight, then successfully sitting up on the mattress.
She goes to the wardrobe, where she keeps her stuff tidy for a clean room. The clothes jumbles out in a ball and onto the floor. So much for the tidiness. She can deal with those later, now, focused on choosing the clothes she wants.
Decent clothes. Flowers themed. Yeah, whatever. It's not like anybody going to barge in to her weirdo self. The bright exterior of the washroom blinds her eyes, due to being used to the warm color of the desert.
Water droplets trickles down her curves, chasing eachother until it reaches the floor. She rubs along the bumps of her muscles, the feeling all too familiar to her.
They had complimented how her skin is silky and soft to touch, while they were hugging, of course. She really didn't think much of it, other than the environment that she's been through. But thinking about it now, she does seem to understand something when she runs her hands on her curves...No, skin. Skin.
...
"What am I even thinkin'? I 'ave never felt like this before..." She murmured to herself as she rinse off the slippery substances of the soap. Sighing, she reach for the handle and flip it off, the water stops steadily. The steps suddenly heavy, her mind feels lightheaded. She hurriedly dry off herself, and put on her clothes.
A step out the washroom and the head starts hurting even more. She hasn't caught a heat stroke, has she? A warm cup ginger tea should do. She practically dashed to the kitchen, pouring water in the kettle to boil. She leans tiredly on the marble counter, tapping impatiently, lids heavy. Today wasn't that bad, so why was she so drain of life all of sudden?
Her gaze lands on the fridge, and urges herself to get the ginger and tea leaves. They would help her at a time like this. Her head throbs further, almost fainting on the spot. Damn that Hook! She ought to stop thinking too much.
Dinner wasn't doing good at soothing the headaches from her. Then, she imagined them-
"Urgh...! Stop it!" The pillow absorbed her screams, her hands pressing hard on both sides of her scalp. She rolled from sides to sides, trying to drown out the image of them. Them. It's midnight. She is supposed to sleep. Sleep.
The soft mattress failed to comfort her at least one bit. She stopped tossing and turning, her eyes fall heavy to the struggle. She pitched herself to take off some of the thick pain in her mind. She going to need sleeping pills- Actually, no.
...
Hours have past. She finally succumbed to her exhaustion. Hoping they, they, don't show up in her dreams.