It was loud, damp, dirty, and all together a disgusting place. The minuscule windows were barred like prison cells, the roof kept on leaking and it was full of different kinds of sea creatures and men, all with too much money to spend on too much alcohol. Anyone who wasn't yelling or screaming was either passed out drunk or getting there. In the center of the room, 4 tables were pushed together and stacked full of all kinds of meats and beers. A bunch of sailors surrounded the tables yelling and cheering, probably celebrating another successful Kahl hunt. Needless to say, The Mermaid wasn't exactly somewhere you'll think a prophecy would begin.
Vic sat at the bar alone. Hunched over, fur hood up and trying to stay as far away from the "party" as they could manage. They were snapped out of their brooding session when a glass hit the wood in front of their folded arms. Vic raised an eyebrow to the bartender, silently asking what the fuck she just placed before them.
"From the chick with the wings," she answered, pointing her thumb to a young lady sitting on the other end of the bar.
The "chick with the wings" blushed and brought a fist up to her temple in a silent 'hello' at Vic's glare. Vic duly noted the Kosmasian greeting before glancing back down to the glass before them. It was half full of a clear liquid and some ice.
A closer examination had Vic calling out to the bartender asking, "Is this water?!"
An amused 'yup' was the only reply.
Vic looked back to "Wings" with an eyebrow raised. She didn't seem to understand and continued to smile. Since social etiquette mandated that Vic go talk to her, they let out an exaggerated sigh and reluctantly dragged themselves over. Vic plopped themselves down next to Wings and silently looked her over. She wasn't wearing the warmest looking clothes and the vest she had on looked to be more patch than vest.
Her hair looked as if it were cut with a butter knife and unevenly ended at her shoulders, with some mildly straight bangs ending at her eyebrows. But what got Vic's eyebrows up was her hands, there were painful red burn scars littering the skin up to mid forearm. Deciding not to ask Vic let their eyes wander up to her wings, they were a light pastel pink as opposed to the normal gray that most Humms had.
After discretely checking that she had no weapons, Vic finally brought their eyes to hers. She was still politely smiling and not saying a word.
"Hey," Vic offered, the suspicion of this girl not being completely "okay" sneaking into their mind.
"Oh! Hi! I'm, um, Willow," she finally replied after a few awkward seconds, "I like your hood."
"Oh yeah, a lot of people do." Vic half-joked, a hand reaching up to feel the fur. It was the first thing Vic had ever killed: a polar bear. Vic had kept the head of the beast and had it resting on her own, the sharp canines framing their face. The rest of the skin made for a very soft and reliable cloak. The tough hide had protected her against the cold and in several fights. They wore it to remind themself for what they were fighting for; justice.
"Would you like to feel it?" Vic asked. Many children would stop them in the street and ask to do just that so they figured that Willow might want to as well.
Their prediction was correct when she enthusiastically replied 'yes!' and reached up to feel the cloak.
A few seconds into stroking the cloak, Willow let out a pained hiss and quickly withdrew her hands, clutching them to her chest. She slowly opened them a little and Vic saw that she had a thin scratch across her palm. Vic immediately understood what had happened and explained, "You must have cut yourself on one of the fangs. It's okay it doesn't look that bad and it happens with just about everyone."
Willow looked at them slightly relieved and then looked back to her hand. She stared at her cut for a while before Vic noticed that she seemed lost in thought. While snapping their fingers in front of her face, Vic let out a little anger into their voice when they said, "Hey, focus, it's a cut not the end of the world."
Willow quickly snapped her head up at this with a surprised look on her face. She looked at a Vic with wide eyes as if she hadn't ever known they were there.
"Oh! Hi! I'm Willow!" she repeated with the polite smile from before.
"... what?" Vic asked, perplexed.
Willow looked startled, "Um, sorry? Is something wrong?" She looked genuinely confused and worried. Vic just continued to stare at her intently. "Ummm..." She started, feeling self-conscious. Willow dragged her eyes across the floor and onto the opposite wall, doing all she could to avoid Vic's burning gaze. After a few tense moments she let her line of sight to return to Vic's.
Donning that blank stare and polite smile once again, Willow began once again, "Hey! I'm Willow!"
Vic was starting to get impatient. "Yeah, I know you're Willow," they snapped, "you've said that 50 times already."
"I have?" questioned Willow. Her eyes cleared up with understanding, then they closed with irritation. "Ohhhhh shoot!" she cursed, shoulders deflating and head swinging back in annoyance, "oh darn, oh darn, oh darn I did it again." She brought her head back to Vic's and apologetically explained, "This happens every time I try to talk to someone. You see, I have amnesia, anterograde. 'Short term memory loss' is what most call it."
