18. Vesper
VESPER
The safehouse in the Red Bloom Court is not an AppleFrog’s.
It’s not even remotely close to what the safehouse in the Secret Abyss was.
As we grow closer to it, it rises from the trees like something out of the past that I can’t put a name to.
There’s nothing like it in Dross. The large building is made up of black iron and glass, the black interrupting the panes as it cuts up and through the design.
At the top of the pointed glass building, the iron forms sharp, menacing points where various creatures have met their fate.
So many dead and decaying bodies are impaled on the points, I half think it’s intentional rather than accidental.
In some spots, dried blood still streaks along the glass pane where the constant rain attempts to wash it away.
“You think they have food in this one?” Locke asks as we stare at the building.
We can’t see inside. The windowpanes are fogged up from the difference in humidity outside and in.
What we can see are the various carnivorous plants all along the edges, scraping across the glass, quivering against it as they hungrily watch whatever is inside.
Where they press against the window, the fog is wiped away, revealing people shapes moving around inside.
There is only a single pathway that isn’t populated with the flora, making it clear that’s our entrance.
“The plants think so,” I answer, watching them carefully before I start toward the door.
I don’t know what kind of building this is to guess at what sort of resources they might have, but it’s still a surprise when we open the door and step inside.
The windowpanes look out into the rainforest, letting in light that keeps the place warm and inviting.
The windows are definitely fogged up still, but we can see where the plants are wiping the condensation away as they rub against the panes hungrily.
It’s almost obscene the way they slide against the glass, the way they lick at it. I’m immediately uncomfortable.
“What exactly is this place?” I ask Cipher as I look around.
Unlike AppleFrog’s, the people here look like people mostly.
Their faces are human, but their clothes are from a time I can’t name.
We certainly never wore anything like it in Dross, but I can’t help but greedily eye just how much cotton material they’re wearing.
A large dress like that could have clothed five people back in Dross.
“Welcome to The Greenhouse Tavern,” a man at the front says with a great gesture toward the lush inside. “Please. Come inside, old chap, and have a morsel.”
The man is dressed in baggy pants, a vest, and a white shirt. There’s a bit of material at his neck that I have no name for, folding in on itself and hanging decoratively. He sports a moustache so large, I worry he’s going to bite it when he speaks.
I open my mouth to thank him, but he’s not even looking at me, only Locke. It’s like I don’t exist.
“Uh,” Locke says, glancing at me. “Thanks?”
“The Greenhouse Tavern is modeled after a mix between a Victorian Greenhouse and an English tavern from the same era,” Cipher finally chips in. “You will notice the clothing is reminiscent of the same time period. In fact, all NPCs here will be very fashionable.”
“And when was that?” I ask, confused. “How long ago?”
“Ah, yes,” Cipher says. “It is currently the year 4576. The Victorian era encompasses the years 1890 to 1910. So that means this time period is from roughly two thousand, six hundred, and sixty-six years ago. At the very least.”
I nearly trip over the wooden floorboards as Cipher breaks down the numbers and informs us just how long ago something like this place would have existed.
“Are there still things like this remaining back on Earth?” I ask.
“No,” he replies, his tone going solemn. “There is nothing remaining on Earth.”
“What happened?”
“A story for another time,” Cipher says, changing the subject. “Player three million, six hundred and seventy-three thousand, five hundred, and seventeen looks like he’s about to get into a scuffle.”
My eyes search for Locke and find him at the bar against the far wall arguing with the bartender. Sighing, I cut through the building, avoiding the large dresses the ladies are wearing, and take a seat at it.
“Lay off,” I tell Locke as I gesture for the bartender to come over.
“Pardon me, Miss,” the bartender says as he approaches. “The seats at the bar are for gentleman only.”
I raise my brow. “Excuse me?”
“Ladies are not permitted at the–”
“No, I heard you the first time,” I grunt, cutting him off. “Why?”
“Ladies are docile creatures and must be protected at all costs. Spirits could cause you to descend into melancholy, or worse, hysteria,” the bartender parrots as if that makes his statement somehow better.
I reach across the bar and grab him by the extra material at his throat, dragging him over the bar to face me. Our faces are only a few inches apart as I bare my teeth at him.
“Do I look fucking docile to you?” I sneer.
“N-n-no,” he quivers, holding up his hands in surrender.
I release him. “Then get me something to drink that doesn’t taste like sewage water. Now.”
The man immediately rushes around the bar and grabs a bottle, tipping it upside down and filling a glass before sliding it across the bar.
He fills one for Locke when he takes a seat beside me and then retreats to the other side of the bar where he eyes me with equal parts fear and disgust. No doubt he thinks I’ve been overcome with this “hysteria” he was blathering about.
Locke is grinning at me as he picks up his glass and takes a sniff of it. He wrinkles his nose and takes a sip, making his own face of disgust before downing the whole glass.
“You sure know how to make friends,” he says.
“You were arguing with him first,” I point out.
“Yeah, because he kept trying to serve me howler monkey blood with a bone in it,” he replies. “Said all the Bone Breakers love the drink. I just wanted some sort of liquor.”
“Ew,” I say, shaking my head. “I shouldn’t be surprised, but here I am, surprised that the Harrow is made up of a million things I don’t understand.”
The bartender reappears to refill Locke’s glass and then when he thinks better of it, he fills mine further up before retreating again. He watches us with wide, intense eyes until it’s almost uncomfortable, especially when I realize he doesn’t blink.
“You think these people are actually people?” I ask Locke, staring at the bartender.
“What else would they be?” Locke asks, raising his brow. “As far as I can tell, the NPCs have flesh the same as—”
“People is a loose term,” a voice interrupts from my other side. “They hardly count anymore.”
I whirl on the stool and take in the man now suddenly sitting beside me at the bar. I hadn’t heard or felt him take a seat and clearly, Locke didn’t either because he’s out of his chair with his new hammer in his hand before I can even pull mine.
The new man eyes the hammer and laughs. “You can’t use that in here, Bone Breaker. Safehouses are just that.” He raises his brow. “Safe. No violence inside.”
“Or what?” Locke hisses, not putting his hammer away.
The newcomer shrugs. “I suppose that’s up to Cipher. I’ve watched men explode and others be teleported away somewhere random.” He grins. “The system is an asshole so I assume it wasn’t somewhere pleasant.”
I don’t slide off my stool like Locke. I remain where I am, my knees slightly turned toward the man. Mostly, it’s because he feels like a threat and I don’t want him to think me weak. Predators go for the throat when they think you’re weak, and this man practically drips with predatory intent.
“And who are you?” I ask, watching him carefully. We’re too close, but I don’t want to move away and give him a win. He’s intentionally in my space.
His eyes are the palest of blues. Combined with his pale skin and short, white hair, he looks almost like ice.
Even folded onto the stool as he is, I can tell he’s tall and lean, his neck and arms rippling with muscle.
His clothing screams wealth, the kind of clothes that the richest in Dross would wear, but somehow still more expensive.
They’re completely made of cotton and they’re spotless.
He wears golden jewelry, an amulet around his neck, and a chain hanging on his pants.
Black ink swirls along his neck and disappears into his shirt, hiding the rest of the design so I can’t really tell what they are.
When he looks at me, some part of me shrivels up and wants to move away from him. I don’t out of sheer willpower alone.
“Well, Beastie,” he says to me, leaning in closer. “You can call me Stryker.” His eyes trail down my body, taking in every part of me. “You are a particularly interesting creature, aren’t you?”
My instincts start to scream at me to run. To get away from this man. But beneath those instincts is another one, one that wants to tangle with him, one that wants to wrestle and win.
“What level are you, Stryker?” Locke asks, refusing to sit back down. He looms over my back, a protector and a friend. Just like I do, he senses the threat that Stryker presents.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Beast Bound and Bone Breaker travelling together,” he comments instead of answering, watching the both of us carefully.
He doesn’t seem nearly as interested in Locke as he is me, his eyes always coming back to focus on my body, my lips, my chest, my hands as they hold the crystal glass.
“Might I suggest you give Stryker a wide berth,” Cipher pips in softly in my mind.
Why? I ask silently, not wanting Stryker to know I’m talking to Cipher.
Hopefully, Cipher can hear the question.
Stryker looks toward me despite saying it in my mind and grins.
It’s both menacing and sensual, and my body reacts as such.
Part of me wants to run far, far away. The other part wants to invite him in.
“Do you desire, Beastie?” Stryker asks.