I have to talk her father into taking her back.
Swiping her awful gown off the floor, I toss it at her. “Come on. Get ready. I gotta go or else I’ll be stuck with the whole fucking cavalry.”
She carefully maneuvers the dress on without getting up from the bed and I take to stuffing and lacing my boots on. By the time I’m finished, she’s settled in the corner of the tent, digging into a bag that must’ve been brought in for her. This better not take all day.
She suddenly yelps and flings something. The thing in question thuds down to the floor in front of my feet. I glance down to find the corpse of a cat, so stiff you can tell it’s been dead for a long time.
“I…I did not bring that,” she gasps.
Fucking shades. It takes me a few seconds to piece it together. It’s a poor attempt at old magic. She shrinks as I start forward. Whisking the bag away, I shake the contents out onto the floor. Out falls several large glass bottles, some type of skull—possibly that of a horse, a single shoe that's seen better days. On closer inspection the bottles appear to be filled with bits of hair and fingernail clippings. Gross. Very poor attempts at old magic I’m sure they think will ward me away or something.
“She’s…very old.”
“This shit does nothing to me.”
“I was hoping she packed me a hairbrush,” she says weakly.
That’s almost…funny. It only gets a soft snort of me in my irritated state but even that leaves me surprised…and shortly irritated again. Don’t be funny. I don’t like you, I think, narrowing a glare at her as I point a finger up and down. “Any other tricks on you, nought?”
“No,” she says quickly. A little too quickly.
My eyes flick down to the pockets on her gown. Even if they’ve been wise enough to send her with some kind of weapon it won’t do her any good. And besides, I’m going to talk her father into taking her back. Hopefully, if he hasn’t left yet…we need to go.
“Come nought.” I yank back the fabric opening, squinting as I flash the light of day into the tent. I glance back to see her still frozen in her tracks.
Her eyes are veering over toward where I’ve left the strange chained contraption on the dresser. Dear Gods. “Please don’t tell me you want me to put that thing back on you?”
Her lips part and subsequently shut with indecision before she suddenly snaps, “You’re not putting it back on me!”
I throw up my hands with incredulity. “You think I want to put that back on you?”
She falters. “I…I don’t know but I’m telling you you’re not,” she says crossing her arms over her chest like a defiant, bratty child.
“Wait…are you supposed to put it back on?”
“Does it really matter?”
“I don’t know. Does it?”
She only glowers at me.
“Well, come the fuck on then,” I bark.
She takes two steps forward and halts again. “So, you’re not going to put it back on me?”
“Do you want me to put it back on you?”
“No?”
“Good.”
“Good,” she repeats.
I stride out of the tent. “Wait,” she calls. “I need to speak to my—“ She breaks off, as she appears beside me and finds her father’s furious face already pointing at her. “Father,” she says quietly.
Ugh, and so do I.
Do I so not want to deal with that fucking asshole again.
