Randle locked the shop before leading Sasha into the back of the store. She’d never been into his actual home before. At a closer look, the place was much homier and more expansive than expected. A full family must’ve lived in it at some point.

Sasha glanced around at the dusty fishing gear and décor, paintings, and furniture scattered about neatly. He really was just some geezer. An organized one too.

They sat together at his dining room table. Randle’s brow furrowed as his nose curled up, making Sasha avoid eye contact in shame.

He stood up, shaking his head. “I’m not gonna ask about the stench. Please just take a shower before we continue.”

“You have running water?”

“I do. It’s a luxury I pay too much for, and I only get it because this place is technically zoned to the Bazaar District.”

Sasha weakly responded. “I don’t really get anything about that, but I’m happy for you.”

Randle pointed to a hallway. “The door to the left is the bathroom, and the one across is the guest room. When you’re done, you can get changed in there. And make sure to bathe in the tub. Not the sink or toilet.”

“Isn’t… that obvious?”

“You’d be surprised by how much urchins don’t know.”

She entered his bathroom to find it in a cleaner shape than expected. Folded towels snugly stacked in the drawers while an assortment of soaps and shampoos sat on the edge of Randle’s tub. Though she couldn’t read the titles on the packaging, she sniffed each one in curiosity like some cat trapped in a girl’s body.

After undressing, Sasha hesitantly turned the faucet in the tub only to be surprised by frigid rain. It made her shrivel up. She was too young to remember the last time her family had running water, but Ley spoke about it like it was magic.

Sometimes, he even told her about rumors claiming the rich could summon hot water with this dumbfounded look on his face. The world’s mysteries fascinated Ley.

After adjusting to the temperature, Sasha grew to find comfort in the cold water. She shampooed and dried off for the first time before leaving to Randle’s guest room wrapped in a towel. Well, she thought it would be a guest room. In truth, it looked like a girl’s room.

Girly sheets and blankets on the made bed, stuffed animals and dolls propped up about everywhere, drawers filled with women’s clothes, blouses, dresses, panties, and all. She got dressed and then checked herself out in a mirror.

She left the room to find Old Man Randle sitting in the same spot as before. He swigged on a metal canteen. Upon joining him, he looked at her with uncanny surprise. He caught himself and fell back to his normal stoic look.

It piqued Sasha’s interest. “What is it? And you’re day drinking again?”

“It’s nothing. Just been a while since I’ve seen that outfit worn.”

She glanced back at where she had just left. “Is that really a guest room?”

“No, it isn’t. Used to be my daughter’s room. Enough about me though.” He pulled his chair up, straightening his posture. “Tell me what’s going on. Talk your throat hoarse if needed.”

Sasha nodded slowly, a soreness building up in her chest. As she spilled her worries and heart out to Randle, he listened in silence, never averting his attention other than to drink.

She got to the topic of last night and found herself stuttering again, emotions building up. Randle made a little halting gesture with his hand. “Breathe and collect yourself. I can wait.”

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“Right…” Sasha responded before taking a deep breath. After taking a minute to calm down, she finished venting with determination.

Randle scratched his chin. He spoke to her carefully as if choosing what to say and not say with utmost precision. “Why don’t you stay here? That room there can be yours. You can live here as long as you need while you wait for your brother to return. There are evils in these streets far worse than you could ever imagine. It’s no place for some lone girl.”

She stared at him unblinking as he continued. “And I don’t think anything could explain the murder you witnessed other than the new organ black market. The rich and anatomy practices pay a fortune for the organs of fresh corpses. They’re taken from trash like us that nobody bats an eye to disappearing. It happens every day. You hear the screams.”

The casual way Randle dropped this onto Sasha brought her to stiffness. She questioned him. “You don’t think Ley?”

“I don’t know,” he grumbled in response, avoiding eye contact.

“Then, sure, I’ll take up your offer. Thank you, Mister Randle.”

“No need for pleasantries. You talk too polite. Just call me Randle or, like Ley, Old Man.”

Sasha nodded. Randle looked back toward the storefront, scratching his mustache. “Now, I’ve gotta get back to work.”

“I’ll lend a hand.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mhm.”

She followed him back into Troll’s Treasure, putting on her apron and work cap. Almost as soon as Randle took down the sign, strangers from afar sprinkled inside gazing in wonder at the row of plate armor suits.

Next to Sasha, he rambled. “Must be that Major Festival everyone’s in an uproar about. People love their dead gods. Gives them excuses to go wild.”

Sasha cleared her throat before donning her usual customer service demeanor. It was a performance clashing with her hurt. “Welcome, everyone!”

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These days swirled by with flickering cycles of gloomy light and darkness. Randle grew frailer with bones beginning to brittle. For the first time though, his shop flourished with Sasha’s diligent help.

He watched Sasha grow a little taller and bolder with every month as she awaited Ley’s return. Most her nights were spent propped up, staring out the front window of the shop, with an expression that couldn’t have been deader. Eventually, she stopped making a third plate for dinner.

One night, at the end of a busy shift, Randle stumbled from his room to the mahogany wine cabinet. He’d graduated from peasant booze. Wearing a red bathrobe reminiscent to a king’s garb, he ran his fingers along his fancy collection before stopping at a vacant hole where happiness once existed.

“Heh? You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me.”

He wandered out onto the shop’s floor and glared at his two new guards sitting lazily in wooden chairs, their feet propped up on a glass jewelry display. They were ex-mercenaries from the arid neighboring nation, Zaibah, and wore a rare make of Eastern bronze plate layered over chainmail. Curved swords sheathed at their hips.

Suspicious, Randle questioned them. “Xavier. Abdul. Did you get into my cabinet? My Sage’s Sanguine is gone.”

Xavier shrugged and Abdul shook his head. The first spoke coldly. “We don’t drink, Sir Randle Fletcher. It’s against our beliefs.”

Then the other pitched in with a more carefree tone. “I’m shocked you’d even suspect us. A monkey would be the more likely culprit, mischievous bastards. I’ve seen them even use crossbows.”

Xavier nudged him with a confused look. “Brother, there are no monkeys in this part of the world.”

“Really?” His eyes widened. “You mean it?”

The mystery sketched out Randle. “I see… Shouldn’t have even asked. Carry on.”

Back at the cabinet, he scratched his chin. He wasn’t that old, was he? After some more pacing and rambling, he found himself in front of Sasha’s door.

She wouldn’t, would she?

Randle knocked repeatedly, at first light and polite, and then with some oomph. No answer. With an “Excuse me.”, he creaked open her unlocked door.

There in the dark, Sasha laid stretched out on her bed with messy hair like a corpse, the half empty Sage’s Sanguine bottle in hand. Miraculously not spilt, it was close to toppling and dying her bed red.

She snored half naked, knocked out cold. Randle shook his head and sighed. “Guess you’re growing up, but my footsteps aren’t good ones to follow.”

He carefully pulled the bottle from Sasha’s loose grip, threw a blanket over her, and snuck from the shadowy room. The only thing that hadn’t changed about her were those emerald earrings. She cared more about them than herself.

The next morning, Sasha bid farewell to Randle and the shop guards to head out into a frigid Monestate conquered by the season of snow, coldrule. Xavier and Abdul played cards bantering in a staccato foreign language while her old guardian came off more distant than usual. Her mind foggy, she failed to pinpoint why.

On this weekend day, the fifteenth of Lovecraft, Sasha spent her free time away from work carefully. She headed down Tanner’s Street and turned to weave through the Bazaar District’s stalls and crowds until stopping in front of the city’s sprawling colosseum.

Her routine date awaited. She couldn’t spend too long out though. Afterward, Randle planned to have Xavier teach her to read and write.