Gift Fic - Of a Hand’s Span
It’s officially over two months past due, so idk if I can call this a birthday gift, but I bludgeoned my way through a serious case of writer’s block for the very lovely @thereluctantinquisitor anyway! I realized too late that this might read as a bit of a rehash of the birthday fic you wrote me Kay, and I don’t consider myself an expert enough on your delightful OCs to think it’s at all in character, but I hope you enjoy the effort all the same! Thank you for always being a voice of encouragement and an incredible friend!! <3
~ 2500 words, of the Stonebreaker variety
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When your year included a day spent swinging from the gallows, it seemed poor luck not to celebrate surviving it.
The realization found Sylda quietly, one scorching afternoon in the height of summer as she idled around the dingy inn room that she and Delver had spent too much of their dwindling coin on. They hadn’t had much choice in the matter; the little inn was about the only place a reasonable person could wait out the arrival of the caravans that ferried travelers through the heart of the wilds beyond the bustling little trade stop. So they had spent the last two days waiting, until the waiting turned to bickering, and the bickering to silence, and the silence to sudden, glaring memory.
Staring up at the pock-marked ceiling, Sylda checked the date against the calendar in her head, checked it a second time for good measure, then sighed and heaved herself up off of the groaning springs of the bed beneath her. Its complaints drew Delver’s attention from his third reread of the book that he was definitely not falling asleep to.
“Where are you going?” he asked hazily, on reflex. There was resistance in his voice already. Sylda shrugged.
“Out,” she said, just to annoy him. “Maybe down to the market. Maybe to a tavern with some better wine. Hey, if I’m bored enough, maybe I’ll find my way over to the Gilded Keys. That could be fun.”
“We need to be here when the caravan arrives,” Delver reminded her, blinking the mirage of the book’s pages from his eyes as she crossed to the door.
“Mhm.”
“And I’m not going to climb around the whole city looking for you.”
“Of course not. I’ll be back.”
“Sure.” Delver sighed, scrubbing half-heartedly at what Sylda assumed was the beginning of his latest headache. Then he straightened.
“Isn’t the Gilded Keys a brothel?”
Her answer was the door falling shut behind her.