A punch to the face sent me stumbling, and another left me scrabbling on my back, blood cascading in metallic rivulets from my nose and beading at my lips. The filthy wood planks of the tavern floor pressed and prickled at my forearms as I propped myself up painfully.
"Well fuck you too dear sir." I spat bloody saliva onto the worn boots of the large brute of a man, who was clearly fuming at me. What did I say to summon such anger in his heart?
I couldn't remember; I was way, way too drunk. The world was spinning around me and I giggled as I fought the nausea building in my stomach. I didn't feel any pain and I couldn't care less about the fact that the victim of my foul words could very easily -- and very eagerly-- mutilate my body that was barely half the size of his.
I cackled like a fool as the man's fist sped towards me again, only for it to halt midair as a shriek split through the sounds of scuffling and chaos.
"Stop!" A girl's voice resounded, barely dominating above the din. Despite this, I could hear the will and power in her voice, and I could tell simply by her tone that she was no force to be reckoned with. From my position on the floor, sputtering in blood and other bodily fluids, I could only see a set of embroidered leather shoes which, from the way they drove angrily into the floor with each step, I imagined belonged to the voice.
"Every. Single. Day. I have to deal with another God-forsaken brawl because of drunken dumbasses like you! My father owns this tavern, which makes it mine as well, so if he won't put an end to your constant squabbles, then let me."
The leather shoes circled around behind me and out of my sight, and I let out an untimely hiccup amidst the silence. I lay back on the floor, limbs sprawled and, before I knew it, footsteps vibrated against the rotten wood right next to my head. Through fuzzy vision, I saw the wooden sole lift itself just above my head, dark hair and eyes gleaming out behind it.
"Out! All of you!" The girl yelled, right before she brought down her heel and I was thrown into oblivion, glimmering stars soaring across my darkening vision.
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I snapped into consciousness with a jolt, sitting up abruptly only for the sickening nausea to flood back, this time alongside a stabbing headache. It took me less than a few moments to realize that the long barrel of a shotgun was pointing kindly at my skull. Behind the vintage wood and worn metal of the decades-old gun was the same girl who, I suddenly remembered, slammed her heel into my face and knocked me out.
But she wasn't nearly what she seemed like at first; her hands were shaking and her arms were in an awkward position as if she never held a gun before. I could smell the subtle stench of nervousness and fear on her.
"Who are you? Why do you come here every day and cause problems?" She confronted me.
"How long have I been out?" I crawled to my knees.
"Ten minutes. Answer my questions." She gripped the shotgun tighter.
"Tell me your name first." I staggered to my feet, much to the girl's dismay, who was much shorter than me.
"Eisley." Eisley uttered after a moment of hesitation.
"Wonderful. Daniel Rose at your service." I smiled smugly, to which she scowled.
"What do you do?" Eisley inquired again, keen on discovering more about my mystery.
"Oh, well, I don't know. Criminal? No, that's too broad… Pirate? Though I'm not the best at seafaring…"
"Of course you are, like I'd expect any better. But what kind of high-class thief boasts the kind of clothes you have on your back?"
"I have my means." I met her glare, and, surprisingly, she dropped the shotgun lower, until it was pointing at the floor.
"What other means do you have," She started warily, "that allow the bruises and cuts on your face to heal in a matter of a few minutes?"
"What?" I quipped. Of course, she had noticed. How badly had I been beaten?
"Are you playing dumb?" Her eyes smoldered with determination.
"Runic tattoos. Got them in Northern Verivatian. They do wonders for healing simple injuries." The story wasn't entirely false, as I tugged at the collar of my shirt to reveal a twisted black symbol; Its true significance was as the Senkyan rune of wind and air.
Eisley's face initially spoke in disbelief, but it quickly transformed into understanding. "Alright," she muttered without further concern.
"Alas, I must go now, for I have things to do. Thank you for your hospitality, my lady." I adjusted my coat and slung my pistol from the inside pocket on my chest to the holster latched on to my belt at my hip.
"Wait what? I never said you could--" Eisley stammered indignantly and tried to reach out to grab my arm. I twisted out of the way without effort and reached for the handle of the splintering wooden tavern door.
"Who am I to have to heed your instruction?" She did not respond as I swung open the door, revealing the silent and ever so lightless world outside.
"Goodbye. May I not see you again." I grinned as I stepped out into the frigid air, prickles of cold stinging my watering eyes. I shut the door without a response from the girl, for she was insignificant to me at the moment, and for the everlasting future until I die.
I stuffed my hands into the pockets of my leather coat and set off towards the village, where I could yet again drown my sorrows in momentary physical pleasure. For years now, the maggot that ate at my insides would not leave, this shred of guilt that I was not supposed to feel.
Preferably, an end for me would be welcome. But nevertheless, death is not my friend.