It was the worst day ever recorded in the definition of “worst days” for the barmaid of the Slaughtered Lamb. Particularly horrible days seemed to visit upon Anisse regularly, and whether this was because of her habitual disagreeable nature toward the world and its people, or just plain bad luck, it just couldn’t be decided. Perhaps, in fact, it was a combination of the two blended together, but the day had grown to its crescendo in things that could go wrong.
The tattered remains of her bed hung in ashy strings against the metal bed frame, the mattress having burnt down to wiry metal coils. Still, she managed to lay sprawled upon the uncomfortable frame, feeling the coils dent in to her back. She sighed, trying to find sleep. Of course she could not. Everything was in ruin around her. The crates that once served as walls to her parlor room were in disarray, some outright smashed in her efforts to put out the fire that had overtaken her home. The chest that contained her treasures still sat, askew of its usual spot, the kept hearts having been boiled in their own chemical concoctions because of the disaster. The rank odor of burning flesh could not be rid of, even with the lid closed. It hurt to see her precious work undone, and despite it all, she could not stop staring at the mahogany chest now burnt black.
What tore at her mind the most was that she could not remember how the fire started.
In fact, her head would begin to burn at the slightest will to try to remember what had happened before the moment she’d waken up to see the Captain’s face above her, trying to haul her out of the Slaughtered Lamb’s cellar lest she burn as well. She would have scalded her hands gladly in order to save the treasure chest if Captain Wolf had let her, but like most wolves, he had been irritatingly stubborn and had a grip that would let go for nothing. Despite her weariness, she again tried to put her thoughts together, piecing the events in the order that they happened over the course of the terrible day.
Anisse groaned at the thought of the obscenely large man that payed off Jarel to take her fishing in Lakeshire earlier in the day, and she let go of his name as easily as she had avoided his hidden intentions. What did stick was the incessant feeling of being drenched in water, long after she’d fallen in the lake. There were the violent wolf-men that had completely wrecked the jovial bartender’s mood with their idiotic fighting. At least the chunk of wood torn out of the doorway had been appropriately reimbursed, which was more than Anisse could say for her parlor room. It would take time, gold, and possibly a few gently used furniture pieces for the space to feel like home again.
The coils of the ruined mattress creaked as she turned on her side, trying to ignore the pain of their digging into her body. Had she burned down the room? And why? The Captain certainly thought that’s what had happened, and a sour backtaste developed at the back of her throat as she began to see it as the only explanation. She hadn’t known what she was thinking, dragging him with her in order to restock the Lamb’s supply of meat, but the little animals of the forest provided little comfort with their offering, their hearts meager contributions to the beginnings of her collection. Her gaze slid up to the ruined vanity, where the iced container sat, housing the fresh organs. A sigh, and she rose off the remains of the bed, the buzzing, stinging pain of her head denying her sleep.
There were new jars to be filled, after all.
Jarel’s voice sounded as if it were slow, and muddled, calling to her from underwater, his nags lost to her in her lack of sleep as she climbed up to the tavern. There was only one concern she had at the moment, and answering his questions was not one of them. Perhaps the matter of the cellar could be explained later. A wayward candle, or a misfired spell by one of the neonate warlocks….there were many excuses to use. It was near daylight, the dark skies over Stormwind already touched with yellows at the horizon.
Her feet were walking of their own volition, restless, though her mind had not made up where to go. The soft boots she wore were drawing her eyes, hardly making a sound through the even softer grass. Not that she was trying to be sneaky--she was not exactly skilled at such things, but the simplicity of the fact that she could walk so quietly was admittedly, surprising. When she finally pulled herself out of those idle thoughts, she’d realized she was walking around the entire perimeter of the Mage Quarter, around and around. How many circuits had she made until just now?
Shaking her mind free of her dazed fog, Anisse stopped herself right before the Blue Recluse tavern, considering walking in to look at their own menu, in realization that she’d never done so before. Her gaze swept over the dining tables decorating the entrance of the tavern, and then her feet came to a stop as she noticed a figure sitting on one of the chairs, his features shadowed by the overhanging trees. He was staring at her. She knew it. Wordless, but staring at her expectantly, as so many patrons of the Lamb would do. As if she were to know what drink was wanted, what meal he wanted, that demeaning stare that questioned her faculties and her dependability as a waitress.
It was driving her mad.
“Stop looking at me like that! I don’t even work here…!” she growled out in a whisper, coming around the ramp to confront the figure. He had already been served by the look of things, even! “….stop staring at me…”
The corpse had no eyes to stare at her with.
Anisse grew unnervingly quiet when she realized his eyeballs were actually impaled upon an exposed rib, the torso opened down to the pelvis. It was an immaculately clean corpse, drained of blood, and relieved of all its inner organs. The sightless head hung low upon the chest, not staring as she thought it had been. Not at her, at least.
It seemed to be staring at the heart within its own cavity, only hanging by a thread of viscera.
Just as she thought she was hallucinating, her eyes connected to the serving plate before the seated body. There lay the rest of his organs, artfully poised to deliver a message:
YOUR TURN
A shiver ran up her spine of both dread and excitement, her fingers trembling with anticipation as she reached for the hanging heart and plucked it like fruit from a tree. Somehow, she knew this was all for her.
Someone was waiting for her to play.
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