The frozen saint, despite what its name would imply was not cold. It was hot. In the shade it had to be well over ninety degrees. It was also, despite what its name would imply, not a godly place. There was nothing godly about the area. Some could argue that the lack of murders were proof of divine intervention, but then others argued a lack of evil was a sign of divinity's absence. In short it was the same as any other book that couldn't be judged by its title, person by his appearance, or friend by a first meeting.
The streets were mostly empty with the exceptional man or woman who needed something from one of the many general stores that managed to eek out a living. Some walked by with arm loads of groceries for the evening's meal. Others rolled carts filled with heavy tools behind them as they made their way back home. Most only needed a single bag's worth of goods. Whatever the case was, they were sweating an unhappy with being outside their homes.
On the side of the town's busiest road there was a tavern called the pork's perk. Most people passed it by without a second look. The ones who noted the place either did so with a glare or a quick turn in the opposite direction. While on the inside, the barflies and workers didn't even realize the world outside existed. Everything that meant anything was either at the bottom of their mug or inside the barrel. Only a single individual noted the outside world.
She was a young woman, with one hand on the handle of a mug and the other one under her chin, which itself was propped on a table. Her hair was long and purple like light bruises already on their way to healing. She had eyes of warm water under a clear sky. Despite the color they weren't soft. They were hard and ready like the handle of a blade that could be pulled out of it's sheath at a moment's provocation.
Her interests wasn't in the people who called this place home, but the ones who didn't or ever would, because they never could. She needed to find others, if not like herself, than at least with the same place of residence, a hunk of wood on the never ending sea. Her boat had sunk a few leagues out to see and it was only by luck she'd manage to make it to the island before her legs gave out. There were a few that stood out as obvious seafarers but none of the caught her attention. They flew through the net of interest like water.
"Wha?...!" Hiccup! A shout echoed through the room. "What do ya mean." Hiccup. "You won't give me any more." There was a crash as a mug flew in the air over Abbygail, smashing into the wall, sending ale everywhere. "Do you" Hiccup! "KNow who I am?!?!"
"I know. I know." The man behind the counter sighed. "I know. You've continuously told me, and I'll be happy to give you a bottle to drink on your way, but it has to be on your way."
"You're kicking me out!" The man's words came out like a child during its first time walking on ice. "Me, out."
Abbygail swiveled her chair to look at the source of the commotion. The figure's face was hidden behind a strange metal mask with the number four written on it. His thin, soft hands were on the counter, which did little for keeping his swaying body still. Even with the support it looked like he'd collapse at a moment's notice.
"I'm sorry." The man behind the counter, he introduced himself as Bill to Abbygail but William to the first customer to come in after her, said. "I don't want any trouble."
"Ah well." Hiccup! Despite the mask covering the man's face, his sneer was as plain as day. "I want to drink some more ale here in peace, but looks like you're just not going to allow us to get what we want and have a goo day, are you?" Keeping on hand on the counter so he wouldn't fall over like a tree whose trunk suddenly disappeared, the masked man grabbed Bill by the shirt collar. "So I'll just settle for having an okay day." The man's other hand came up, a knife was there, doing the opposite of a magician's vanishing act. He pressed it towards Bill's throat. He did it hard enough to prove a point, but not hard enough for the point to draw blood.
The streets were mostly empty with the exceptional man or woman who needed something from one of the many general stores that managed to eek out a living. Some walked by with arm loads of groceries for the evening's meal. Others rolled carts filled with heavy tools behind them as they made their way back home. Most only needed a single bag's worth of goods. Whatever the case was, they were sweating an unhappy with being outside their homes.
On the side of the town's busiest road there was a tavern called the pork's perk. Most people passed it by without a second look. The ones who noted the place either did so with a glare or a quick turn in the opposite direction. While on the inside, the barflies and workers didn't even realize the world outside existed. Everything that meant anything was either at the bottom of their mug or inside the barrel. Only a single individual noted the outside world.
She was a young woman, with one hand on the handle of a mug and the other one under her chin, which itself was propped on a table. Her hair was long and purple like light bruises already on their way to healing. She had eyes of warm water under a clear sky. Despite the color they weren't soft. They were hard and ready like the handle of a blade that could be pulled out of it's sheath at a moment's provocation.
Her interests wasn't in the people who called this place home, but the ones who didn't or ever would, because they never could. She needed to find others, if not like herself, than at least with the same place of residence, a hunk of wood on the never ending sea. Her boat had sunk a few leagues out to see and it was only by luck she'd manage to make it to the island before her legs gave out. There were a few that stood out as obvious seafarers but none of the caught her attention. They flew through the net of interest like water.
"Wha?...!" Hiccup! A shout echoed through the room. "What do ya mean." Hiccup. "You won't give me any more." There was a crash as a mug flew in the air over Abbygail, smashing into the wall, sending ale everywhere. "Do you" Hiccup! "KNow who I am?!?!"
"I know. I know." The man behind the counter sighed. "I know. You've continuously told me, and I'll be happy to give you a bottle to drink on your way, but it has to be on your way."
"You're kicking me out!" The man's words came out like a child during its first time walking on ice. "Me, out."
Abbygail swiveled her chair to look at the source of the commotion. The figure's face was hidden behind a strange metal mask with the number four written on it. His thin, soft hands were on the counter, which did little for keeping his swaying body still. Even with the support it looked like he'd collapse at a moment's notice.
"I'm sorry." The man behind the counter, he introduced himself as Bill to Abbygail but William to the first customer to come in after her, said. "I don't want any trouble."
"Ah well." Hiccup! Despite the mask covering the man's face, his sneer was as plain as day. "I want to drink some more ale here in peace, but looks like you're just not going to allow us to get what we want and have a goo day, are you?" Keeping on hand on the counter so he wouldn't fall over like a tree whose trunk suddenly disappeared, the masked man grabbed Bill by the shirt collar. "So I'll just settle for having an okay day." The man's other hand came up, a knife was there, doing the opposite of a magician's vanishing act. He pressed it towards Bill's throat. He did it hard enough to prove a point, but not hard enough for the point to draw blood.
