Chapter Text
Call me what you want if the shoe fits, I ain't gonna say I never do this,
'Cause truth is, lonely makes a heart ruthless.
It's just a room key, you ain't gotta lie to me.
Can't you just use me, like I'm using you?
- One Night Standards, Ashley McBryde
At first, to be very honest, she had wanted to rob them blind.
It had been almost laughable the way the two of them had stumbled into the tavern. They couldn’t have stood out more if they’d been trying – a tall, lanky looking scholar wearing a cloak of all things and a young girl with a backpack easily half her height. Their looks said unrelated, and yet the easy way they interacted with each other betrayed the bond that they shared. He found them seats and took her backpack, the girl zoomed toward the bartender and returned with two mugs after a quick round of smiling negotiation. All within a brief few minutes.
Primrose couldn’t help but watch them from behind the curtains as she tied on the sash around her hips. The easy way they slid into conversation with each other, the fond smile on the older man’s face as the girl gestured wildly with her hands. If she had to guess, she would suspect that the two were cousins. Perhaps siblings, if from a closer distance their features were more similar. Either way the affection and camaraderie between the two was obvious, down to the way the man had angled his seat such that he was the external barrier between the girl and the rest of the tavern. A simple, perhaps unconscious gesture of his protectiveness over his young charge. It was enough to make something sharply ache in Primrose’s chest but she shrugged it off.
The man wasn’t paying nearly enough attention to the obvious Leaf pouch tied to his belt and the girl was excitable and talkative. There weren’t many more easy marks in the place this night. For being the largest tavern in Orsterra with the most beautiful (and purchasable) dancers, they still had their high and low seasons. It had been slow for weeks and Primrose had been enduring much more than was usual lately. A few Leaves to ease the pain would not go amiss.
She slipped out of the wings before anyone could stop her. It wasn’t uncommon for dancers to wander the floor before their set, flirting and greasing the way for patrons to part with their hard earned Leaves. It was quiet and early enough that she could smile and dart out of the way for anyone that thought to reach for her and pull her aside. She had a goal. Primrose wouldn’t be moved.
Unless, of course, some handsy old bastard thought that her bare flank was a free sample for him to grope at. Primrose stomped down her instinctive response to grab and slash with the concealed dagger she kept around her thigh, opting instead for a derisive chuckle and phase one – attempt to twist far enough from his reach. Naturally, of course, it would be that she could not move quite far enough away unless she wanted to twirl into the path of an oncoming dancer with an entire tray of full, frothy mugs.
Primrose pasted on her brightest smile and tried not to grimace as the man’s fingers dug harder into her skin. “Sir,” she grit out, “No dancer is to be touched within the tavern.”
He smiled at her, all gums and rotten teeth and Primrose tried not to retch. “Don’t be like that, love. We all know what you girls get up to.”
“For a price.” She reached down to swat his hand away, in what would hopefully look like a playful gesture. “I doubt you can afford me.”
Clearly teasing was not to this man’s taste. He grabbed at her wrist, yanking her toward him until the stench of his breath was almost a physical thing. “Upstart little whore—”
Helgenish be damned. If she was going to be humiliated she would at least be guaranteed payment at the end of it. Primrose braced herself, knowing what consequences her actions would wrought but fully willing and able to break the man’s nose anyway.
“Good sir, I am sure you know that ladies are not to be treated in such a manner.”
Primrose froze. The male voice was not one she recognised, and the way the good humoured words danced on the edge of a promise of violence was enough to make the groper’s grip loosen enough for her to squirm just out of his reach. In doing so she looked toward the direction of that voice, still skating on the edge of adrenaline and whether she should cut her losses and return backstage.
The man was built like a mountain. Tall, of course, but with shoulders nearly so broad as to swallow her entire field of vision. A deep scar was carved across the crest of his brow, his features similarly ragged and his hair was haphazardly pushed back from his face, more the product of endlessly running his hands through it than any attempt at styling. Primrose had seen her fill of men, but this one’s face invited her to linger against the stern cut of his jaw, the proud height of his cheekbones, trace the lines of years he’d weathered. It was his eyes though that rendered her temporarily silent. Dark and deep, with no right to draw her in as much as she was.
She was torn from her musing by the groper huffing out, “She’s no lady.”
Primrose had always prided herself on the fact that she betrayed no reaction to those kinds of comments anymore. They’d used to cut so deep when she was younger. When she was prouder. It was easier now she knew she truly had no rights to such titles.
“She appears every inch the lady to me.”
Primrose couldn’t help herself. Her eyes shot straight back to the mountain of a man, shocked at his gallant response, realising too late that she ought not to have been quite so obviously surprised. The sword that hung at his hip was no decorative piece, the scabbard and hilt obviously weathered with use and lovingly cared for. Judging by the hurried gulp coming from the groper, she was not the only one that had noticed the weapon. Muttering something to himself, she only distantly heard the old man grumble and leave from where he’d been sitting.
The entire interaction had taken maybe a few minutes. It had certainly gone unnoticed by the majority of the tavern. And yet Primrose found herself shaken to her core, her voice shaking a little as she attempted to say lightly, “I’m no damsel to be rescued, Sir Knight.”
“I have no doubt of that,” he replied easily, “But I believe nights should end with a broken nose, not begin with one.” Primrose could only watch in strangled shock as the man bowed to her. A small one granted, but sincere and impeccable. When his eyes met hers she swallowed hard as he continued gently, “Are you all right?”
She could only nod mutely in response. The man continued to look at her, his gaze grave and yet warm and Primrose shook herself. She had a goal, she wasn’t here to be taken in by some man that fancied himself a white knight. She was heading toward—
“Olberic! Over here!”
They turned together to face the table where the other man and the girl sat. Primrose watched as the girl hoisted herself higher up on her seat, waving in their direction with a smile brighter than the sun. The knight – Olberic – coughed and she could not help but be charmed when she saw the small smile blossoming on his face.
She could not very well rob the companions of the man that had been quite so unreasonably decent to her. Primrose smiled, tried not to let the disappointment show on her face as she said, “Have a good night, Sir Olberic.”
“Wait.” She paused, turning back in time to see the hand he’d raised as if to grab hold of her. He fisted it, his arm dropping back to his side. “Tell me your name.”
She wavered. She could give him an alias. Be nothing more than the shell of a girl she claimed to be. The empty husk that had been her existence for so long. She had done so before, to those that thought themselves rescuers of pretty young things, helpless and vulnerable. She’d scoffed them all away before.
And yet Olberic’s eyes were still dark and warm on her. Never once dipping below her neck, never once trailing the curves of her body with lecherous delight. He was old enough to know exactly what she was, exactly why she was here, exactly how easy she could be. And still he had stepped in.
“Primrose,” she said softly, half wishing he wouldn’t hear it and knowing from the way his gaze deepened that he had. “My name is Primrose.”