“Och, this fucking corset!” Winifred grumbled as she fidgeted with her silken dress, trying to get it to drape correctly over her hips. The sleeves were tight, cutting into her muscular arms which, of course, she couldn’t do anything about. Smoothing out some of the damnable ruffles, she glared into her mirror, half hoping the dress would spontaneously combust.
Her reflection looked as miserable as she felt.
She sighed heavily. It had been years since she’d had to wear such a garment. It brought back uncomfortable memories of being forced into similar gowns for the various parties she’d been dragged to by her parents. And the various lectures that she’d suffered about etiquette, decorum, and ‘being a lady’, whatever the Hells that had meant.
“Meek think you look pretty,” The Goblin piped up from her chair, where Meekknuckle was currently perched as the beast stared at her in rapt attention. She had needed some help getting into the dress, and Zach had sent the daft thing to help, as much as the deluded thing could. Which, if she really thought about it, was probably the best option out of the three companions. “For human-lady, anyways.”
“Hmph,” Winifred sniffed. “This bloody charade had better be worth it,” She added as she pulled her hair up into as neat a bun as she could. She’d done what she could with her wild, unkempt mane of hair but it was definitely a far cry away from the coiffed style she’d been forced to keep back then. Just thinking of the sheer amount of bandoline she'd had delicated sponged into her hair... Disgusting.
The Goblin handed her a ribbon which she took wordlessly and attempted to tie a bow around the bun which was already threatening to come loose. “Life’s too short for fucking dresses,” She muttered to herself.
Winifred glanced at the rune on her wrist. She was still getting used to the idea that it would eventually fade away now that she was a Chosen. She didn’t have to worry about the time ebbing away or becoming less as she fell deeper into Dragon’s Blood. In theory, she would live much longer now, sustained by the power of her Pact. The Ratling, of course, was desperate for that boon, but Winifred still wasn’t wholly convinced. An extended life span didn’t mean much when you could still die to any old knife in the gut.
Wanting to distract herself from maudlin thoughts and ball gowns, she turned to the Goblin. The diminutive creature was picking his nose idly, dressed in what she could only assume was a stolen shirt, considering it wasn’t covered in sewer muck for once. Eyes vacant, and jaw slack, it was hard to remember that the yellowish-green Goblin was a credible threat in battle. Still, as she eyed him up and down with a searching gaze, she noticed something for the first time.
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
“You know Meek, I’ve never seen yer Life Rune. The wee blue Mark most people have on their wrist, you dinnae have one?” She asked, tilting her head to the side. “Ye cannae tell me yer a Chosen,” she added unkindly.
“Goblin no have rune,” Meekknuckle replied, pulling his finger out of his nose and wiping it on his pants. “No need.”
“Why?” Winifred asked, grateful for the distraction. Anything was better than wasting more time staring at her own reflection.
“Goblin already have Chosen,” the Goblin started to explain slowly as if he was the one speaking to a half-wit, even as the fool began rooting around in his own ear for Gods knew what. “Father-Chosen say Goblin no need rune. Most Goblin die young, and no Ghosties come in sewer.”
“Aye well, I’ve heard about the filth you live in so I’m nae surprised,” Winifred turned to face her reflection in the mirror. A few loose strands of her brown curls had escaped from the bun. With an irritated tut, she started to fiddle with it.
“Father-Chosen keep other Goblin young,” Meekknuckle continued to explain. “Young meat best meat, make best Harvest.”
“What the fuck?” Winifred stared at Meekknuckle’s reflection in the glass. The Goblin was still casually digging around in his ear as if they were discussing the weather or what to have for breakfast. “Your Chosen eats his own kind?”
“Is Goblin way,” Meek replied with a nod. “If all Goblin have Rune, they see they die young. They see they die young, they no want to live. Meekknuckle cousin die by choosing to leave city. As soon as leave, Tomb Makers attack. Kill cousin. It better this way, Father say so.”
“Fuck me…” Winifred breathed with a shake of her head. “I’m surprised you all put up with it. Chosen or not, he’s just one Goblin. Couldn’t you wee lads just hang up on him?”
With a small smile, Winifred finished wrangling with her hair, just in time to catch Meekknuckle looking at her reflection in the mirror. For a moment, his eyes sharpened, and Winifred was reminded that his slack jaw housed dozens of razor-sharp teeth. Still, he was no threat to her, so she watched with interest as his eyes glazed back over.
“Meek no want hurt Father. Too scary, not end well. Father reason Rat-Men no hurt Goblin village.” Shrugging, Meek stepped up beside Winifred and passed her some powder for her cheeks. “Goblins need ally, if Father gone.”
Scowling at the offered make-up, Winifred was tempted to toss the damn powder at the mirror. Still, a heist was a heist, she reminded herself.
Glancing down at her rather odd assistant, the Chosen grinned to herself. “Well, if we get a proper payday or two, mate, you’ll be able to buy all the help you need. In fact, I’d be willing to give you a discount on account of our friendship…”