I paid for your silence

[winifred-anwell.livejournal.com]

Day 101
Wednesday Morning
The Organ Grinder

The road isn't empty even, fairly early in the day, and I try not to look at anyone too closely as I trot down the street, examining Dorian's map carefully.  I wouldn't like to get lost, but I do try to trip along at a good clip.  I'd like to impress Dorian by getting his errands done on time, so it's with a sense of purpose that I reach the large road and squint up at the signs.

The Organ Grinder?  That's... well, that's awful.  Macabre, to say the least.  But it's not my shop, and I'd have to say that I don't know what I would name a butcher's shop, anyway.  I still don't know how wise it is to go reminding your clientele of where their food comes from.  I try not to consider it, myself, but I remember how I cried when Papa explained to me that the lambs that the shepherd boys tended would be eaten someday!  Still, I suppose this is the way it's done.  I try not to be intimidated as I step inside, feeling the air cooler on my neck and looking around with wide eyes.  "Hello?" I try, timidly.  I'd like to hurry, but I have suddenly remembered that I don't know anyone here but Dorian.

[Closed]

Comments

[simon-klavec.livejournal.com]

She sounds a bit doubtful as she says "Oh. I suppose I will be meeting him, then." Raise an eyebrow to myself as I turn the breast and cleave it again. Strange hire, not to meet the other helper. Wonder how new she is.

She jumps as I slam the blade down. Well. Not much to be done, and Excolo's not so large its folk can stay soft. None too fond of quiet either, it seems. Soon as I rest the cleaver she starts up again. "Did you like it here? Why are you moving on?" Huh. "Not gone yet, yeah? Still here. Was planning to move on once summer ended, but there's some things to keep me here yet." Glance back at her. Seems awfully young. "You're being careful in town, yeah? Some nice folk, sure, but some who aren't, too. And enough strangeness to get anyone into trouble." Take up the knife and start carving.

[winifred-anwell.livejournal.com]

He's not very forthcoming about his reasons for staying. I'm curious, but of course I would never ask. It would be rude. His concern is a little bit surprising, and I straighten up, trying to look cool about the whole situation. "Of course I am," I say crisply. Does he think I'm stupid? I happen to be a very good judge of character, thank you very much. I give way to curiosity a moment later, though, and ask, "What do you mean, strangeness?" Everything's looked perfectly normal to me, at least so far as I can tell. "I mean, if it's not rude to ask."

[simon-klavec.livejournal.com]

"Of course I am," she says, all clipped. Shrug. Not my business. She's quiet for a moment, but then asks "What do you mean, strangeness? I mean, if it's not rude to ask. Well. How to go about this.

"It keeps quiet, generally," I say as I wrap the breast and fetch the hindquarters. "But I've heard folks here claim there are gods as live in Excolo. Black dogs chasing folks in the night. They say the Devil walks down from the water tower, and that there's a woman in town as can take your sins upon herself." Not giving names, mind. Don't want her getting too curious. "Not seen too much of it myself, but it's there." Doubt she'll believe me, but it might help her once she sees it for herself.

[winifred-anwell.livejournal.com]

I just look at him. I'm confused, to say the least. My lips part and leave my mouth a little bit open, but I can't for the life of me think of any words to say to make that all make even a little bit of sense. He just keeps on wrapping up the meat, which now thankfully looks a little bit more like food than animal, and the normalcy of it seems totally wrong when I consider that he sounds serious. Not concerned, just serious.

I can't back out of the shop because he hasn't given me the meat yet and I need it to take back with me, so I finally manage to say something along the lines of, "Oh. Well, then." I've never met anyone who was actually insane before. I wasn't aware they were allowed to run butcher shops. But hopefully that will be inoffensive enough not to upset him.

Mr. Dorian must not like me very much if he's sending me on errands to a crazy butcher.

[simon-klavec.livejournal.com]

Glance over at her. She's gaping a bit, so I keep working. The saddle cut's not quite so quick as the breast. Still, only take me a couple minutes, and it's ready to wrap. Take the steaks and the lamb, weigh each on the scale, and write the prices. When I bring them to the counter, she's got her voice back. "Oh. Well, then."

Recognize the tone and the look, both. Ah, well. Can't blame her. Wouldn't believe myself, either. Still. Feel better to have given her some warning than none. "You paying now, or should I send 'Mr. Dorian' the bill?" Faintly amused by that now. Should ask around and see if h's got a proper name.

[winifred-anwell.livejournal.com]

"Oh! Um." How much do things cost for the average person, anyway? I've used money to buy trinkets now and then, of course, but Papa generally took care of all the house's real expenses. I'm not entirely sure, so I fish one of the lumps of cash Mr. Dorian gave me out of my pocket and hand it to the crazy man, trying not to look anxious. I have no idea if it's the right amount.

[simon-klavec.livejournal.com]

"Oh! Um." She looks panicked, briefly, before digging out some money from a pocket and handing it to me blind. It's enough to cover the meat, and from he look I think I should be glad. Poor girl seems scared or bewildered by half of what she's seeing and hearing.

Or she thinks I'm crazy. That might be it, too.

Count out a small amount of change, doing it slow so she knows what she's getting back. "That all for today, Miss?" Still hasn't told me her name. Won't hold it against her. Hand the meat over to her. "You want a hand carrying that back?" She might be able to manage it all. Still, it's not a long walk if she needs help.

[winifred-anwell.livejournal.com]

"Oh, no. No, thank you," I say, hoping it sounds polite instead of thoroughly worried. I mean, he seems nice enough, but then again, he thinks there's a monster in the water tower and he tells this to strangers with perfect sincerity. The meat turns out to be much heavier than I expected, but I'm sure I can manage it. After all, that's part of running the errands, right?

I accept the change and pocket it, shifting my grip to make sure I can manage everything. It occurs to me that I should perhaps have done the other errands before I had a heavy packet of meat to lug around, but I was just following the order of Mr. Dorian's instructions. I smile--no reason not to be polite; even if he is crazy, he's still been polite--and say, "Yes, thank you, that will be all today." At last, I think, as I haul the meat off toward the door and my arms begin to ache from the unaccustomed effort, I have seized control of the situation. So there.