In hell I'll be in good company

P. Mateo | Searsport

POSTED: Mon Jan 14, 2019 11:08 am

Searsport was growing more familiar by the day and, despite the winter wind's best efforts, they were getting by well enough. They were still alive, at any rate, and there had been no evidence – not a sight, not a sniff – of the self-righteous thugs who had been chasing them across the country. With any luck, they had lost them by coming north, up into territory that was as bitter and unforgiving as her heart had long grown to be.

In the meantime, while they waited – either for the law to catch up with them or for the dust to settle at last – Evelyn was hellbent on surviving. With her burn scars and her blind eye and her small stature, it was more effective to leave the hunting and the trapping to the boys. But the fire-kissed coyote wasn't without strengths of her own and here, in the closest thing to a town square Searsport seemed to have, was were she flexed them.

With her hood draw, tattered ears poking through the holes at the top, Evelyn watched the passing Luperci as she sat, clutching her cloak around her thin, narrow shoulders. She scrutinized everyone as they passed – seadogs and shipwrights, thieves and thugs, poets and paupers – and waited for someone to come along who fit the bill for her purposes. Like the old fool she had taken the blanket from, The Vicar was looking for someone desperate or innocent or just downright stupid – anyone she could bleed for useful items with minimal effort.

For, though she did not doubt she could work her skills on more suspicious folk, it simply did not do to put in a lot of work for a less attainable reward. Evelyn was, and always had been, an opportunist. She wouldn't shirk her duties, if there was work to be done, but when it came to trade and safety and survival, she was only being smart.

Adjusting her weight to keep the blood flowing, Evelyn stared out into the passing residents and visitors of Searsport. When her eyes – one milky in death and the other vibrantly alive – caught sight of a bright-eyed man with the bushiest eyebrows she had ever seen in a Luperci, The Vicar felt a familiar composure wash over her. "You, sir!" she called out, jerking her chin up to him with her arms still wrapped in her cloak. "Seems to me you got an eye for special things."

Unveiling a single, thin arm from beneath her cloak, Evelyn held up a small vial of clear liquid between the bandaged digits of her thumb and index finger. "Got just th' thing for you."

[WC — 446]

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