Vignette: Trashed and Broken
Raveki and the girls discover the Lucky Seven has been broken into.
Late morning was always one of her favorite times, and today with the sun filtering through the canopy, the morning breeze caressing her skin and the lilting chatter of the girls on the path ahead of her, Ista truly seemed like the paradise it claimed to be. All of them were damp and glowing from their time in the baths, and cheerily full of the day's high expectations. Raveki watched them from a few steps behind and felt a rising bloom of pleasant pressure within her chest; the sensation of pride and protection was almost maternal and getting more familiar every day. Her girls, yeah, that sounded just right.
She spotted the kitchen door ajar and parted ways with the trio to go and close it, thinking she'd have to talk to them again about locking up if they were all going to be gone. It meant that she crossed the threshold before the others reached their rooms, giving her brain a moment to take in the chaos of spilled food and broken dishes before their gasps and shouts reached her ears. Time hung in shocked suspension until Mari rushed through the door, tears in her eyes and hands in her rumpled wet curls. "Someone tossed the whole place, Vek. And the box in the office is-" she broke off as Raveki shook herself to life and pushed past with her back stiff and face stony.
The two rooms shared by the girls were never neat but this room looked purposefully destroyed. Raveki only took a moment to scan the torn clothes, dumped drawers, and the mattress with mark-seeking knife slashes through it. At first glance she couldn't mentally tote up the cost of replacing or repairing, but the crushed and dumped cosmetics and the broken perfume bottle that filled the room with its too-strong throat burning scent made her wince. Red-haired Taela sat on the floor in the next room, holding the tattered remains of her favorite beaded top with tears streaming down her face. "My marks too, Vek. The little pouch I kept in the dresser..." Pity and irritation warred, but with a deep breath Raveki let a gruff tone win out. "I told you not to leave them here. Wipe your face and find something to wear today, because we open in an hour."
She stalked past the office with a tiny shake of her head and the door left closed. Later. Maybe she could handle it later, and the main room needed to come first. Her dark eyes squinted almost shut as if lashes and lids might guard her heart from what she would see when she parted the curtain, and after she stepped through she had to blink a few times to make sure they weren't misleading her all together.
"I don't get it," one of the girls said, turning slowly around in the middle of the virtually untouched room. Raveki looked around, one more slow pass, and her mouth settled into a grim line. This wasn't about stealing liquor or ruining their business - it seemed far more personal. "This means we'll be able to open at the normal time, and I expect a smile on your face. Go get started on sweeping the kitchen." She probably should have been more encouraging, but her own madam always said strength created strength and the only way the girls were going to lift their chins and square their shoulders was if she did it first.
So that was how she looked when she repeated herself to the next girl -it would be fine, start sorting and cleaning- and that was how she looked when she stepped into the office. But when she leaned back against the closed door and surveyed the only space she counted as a personal sanctuary the steel in her spine melted like so much wax and her eyes filled with the shine of tears. She picked her way through tossed ledgers and overturned drawers, and with shaking fingers turned over the money box. Pale grey eyes flashed through her head and she ran a finger over the broken lock and thought of the identical chip she carved into every one of the stolen marks. "Thank you," she whispered to the one who warned her, who protected them all. It could have been far worse.
Then she lifted her shoe and saw the puddle of ink that seeped into the floorboards and stained the cork sole of her sandal black. She bent to pick up the ledger that touched the far edge of the creeping ebony pool, crouching and carefully lifting the ink-stained book. The most recent hours of careful work were totally blotted out, records that otherwise existed only in her head obliterated in a wash of darkness. She crumpled from crouching to sitting, heedless of the liquid creeping up the hem of her dress, and as she watched the ink drip off the page the black puddle became diluted with a flood of tears she could not stop.
Late morning was always one of her favorite times, and today with the sun filtering through the canopy, the morning breeze caressing her skin and the lilting chatter of the girls on the path ahead of her, Ista truly seemed like the paradise it claimed to be. All of them were damp and glowing from their time in the baths, and cheerily full of the day's high expectations. Raveki watched them from a few steps behind and felt a rising bloom of pleasant pressure within her chest; the sensation of pride and protection was almost maternal and getting more familiar every day. Her girls, yeah, that sounded just right.
She spotted the kitchen door ajar and parted ways with the trio to go and close it, thinking she'd have to talk to them again about locking up if they were all going to be gone. It meant that she crossed the threshold before the others reached their rooms, giving her brain a moment to take in the chaos of spilled food and broken dishes before their gasps and shouts reached her ears. Time hung in shocked suspension until Mari rushed through the door, tears in her eyes and hands in her rumpled wet curls. "Someone tossed the whole place, Vek. And the box in the office is-" she broke off as Raveki shook herself to life and pushed past with her back stiff and face stony.
The two rooms shared by the girls were never neat but this room looked purposefully destroyed. Raveki only took a moment to scan the torn clothes, dumped drawers, and the mattress with mark-seeking knife slashes through it. At first glance she couldn't mentally tote up the cost of replacing or repairing, but the crushed and dumped cosmetics and the broken perfume bottle that filled the room with its too-strong throat burning scent made her wince. Red-haired Taela sat on the floor in the next room, holding the tattered remains of her favorite beaded top with tears streaming down her face. "My marks too, Vek. The little pouch I kept in the dresser..." Pity and irritation warred, but with a deep breath Raveki let a gruff tone win out. "I told you not to leave them here. Wipe your face and find something to wear today, because we open in an hour."
She stalked past the office with a tiny shake of her head and the door left closed. Later. Maybe she could handle it later, and the main room needed to come first. Her dark eyes squinted almost shut as if lashes and lids might guard her heart from what she would see when she parted the curtain, and after she stepped through she had to blink a few times to make sure they weren't misleading her all together.
"I don't get it," one of the girls said, turning slowly around in the middle of the virtually untouched room. Raveki looked around, one more slow pass, and her mouth settled into a grim line. This wasn't about stealing liquor or ruining their business - it seemed far more personal. "This means we'll be able to open at the normal time, and I expect a smile on your face. Go get started on sweeping the kitchen." She probably should have been more encouraging, but her own madam always said strength created strength and the only way the girls were going to lift their chins and square their shoulders was if she did it first.
So that was how she looked when she repeated herself to the next girl -it would be fine, start sorting and cleaning- and that was how she looked when she stepped into the office. But when she leaned back against the closed door and surveyed the only space she counted as a personal sanctuary the steel in her spine melted like so much wax and her eyes filled with the shine of tears. She picked her way through tossed ledgers and overturned drawers, and with shaking fingers turned over the money box. Pale grey eyes flashed through her head and she ran a finger over the broken lock and thought of the identical chip she carved into every one of the stolen marks. "Thank you," she whispered to the one who warned her, who protected them all. It could have been far worse.
Then she lifted her shoe and saw the puddle of ink that seeped into the floorboards and stained the cork sole of her sandal black. She bent to pick up the ledger that touched the far edge of the creeping ebony pool, crouching and carefully lifting the ink-stained book. The most recent hours of careful work were totally blotted out, records that otherwise existed only in her head obliterated in a wash of darkness. She crumpled from crouching to sitting, heedless of the liquid creeping up the hem of her dress, and as she watched the ink drip off the page the black puddle became diluted with a flood of tears she could not stop.