The streets of The Dives
15/03/2719 ~ 23rd hour
The old steps moaned painfully under Nymeria’s feet, as she made her way up the stairs leading to her freedom for the night. She was leaving behind the colourful and noisy world of The Toy Lantern, only muffled by the door at the lower end of the stairs. Tonight was the 5th day of the week, which had meant Burlesque night. It usually earned her a little extra cash, from happy, and absolutely guttered customers, but the amount of noise and rowdy customers was also doubled- It was a cheap establishment after all. There had also been relatively many wicks and passives tonight, and it had been hard to keep the sneer of her face, and a smile, never reaching her eyes, on.
Reaching the last step and pushing the front door open, made her let go of a sigh she didn’t know she was holding in, before lowly cursing herself. She hadn’t yet finished the less expensive, but hooded, cloak she had been working on for days on end. It was pouring down, and she had some way to her home at Soliloquy Lane. She would be soaked and freezing by the time she got there, and the tiny house wasn’t exactly warm.
It had been what she could afford, and though there always were the danger of getting attacked by a stray criminal, she had also let a tiny hope live, that she might find a way into The Resistance through the peculiar personalities living there. She had not yet been that lucky.
She started walking, a rapid pace, threading over the slippery cobblestones of the streets. Her head was tilted in a downwards manner in the hopes of saving her vision from being entirely clouded by the rain, but it was for naught. Soon the rust coloured braid hanging over her left shoulder, were dripping muddy water. She would be smelling like a wet bander wolf by the time she got home.
The hem of her pinafore was by now a sad mess of both the intoxicating beverages of the lounge, and whatever had been oozing out of the braided rugs, mixed with the mud seeping out between the cracks of the cobblestones. The rain made it horribly clear that it wasn’t just dirt mixed with water, but plenty of other things as well.
Turning a corner, the rows of identical cream coloured houses was laid out before her. Passing small gardens, darkened by the suffocating air of Soliloquy lane, she kept a tight grip around a small dagger she kept on her side walking home at late nights like this. It was dark and she was walking through a criminal loaded street. And she was an easy target. Not exceptionally tall, and easily swung over a shoulder, she would stand no chance in a kidnapping situation.
She stopped before a house no different from all the others, except the small metal 14 on the front of the door. As she patted her dress for the right pocket containing her key, she made her way to the door. Pulling out a single rusty key, she sighed once again and jammed it into the keyhole. She tried turning, to no avail. “Ah clocking hell, you poxy lock”, she cried out and rammed the toe of her boot into the wood. She whimpered quietly at the pain shooting through her freezing toes, but the key turned with a simple click, and she pushed the door open.
She stepped inside, the temperature inside almost no warmer than outside. But it was dry. Well, almost. The sound of tiny droplets letting go of the rundown roof and hitting the surface of the water collected in pots and pans where the roof leaked, filled the tiny house as soon as she closed the door behind her. She stood there for a moment, shortly reminiscing her old warm home, where she would at least had been able to get some proper food. Instead she could be looking forward to a slice of salty meat, and dry, stale bread. She swung the cloak of her shoulders, shortly getting a whiff of the wet dog smell from the fur and hung it by the door. Then she kicked off her boots, and locked the door, before she reached for the matchbox by the lone candle on the drawer that stood by the door.
”Well I better get to work, don’t I?” she mumbled, before lighting the candle with a lit match, and making her way to finish the cloak waiting for her at her dinner table. This was going to be another long night, wasn’t it?
