She motioned the bartender for another drink.
"You sure, miss? It's getting late, and you've already had quite a bit."
"I pay you for alcohol not to question my lifestyle," she replied sourly.
The bartender merely sighed and handed her another drink.
She wondered how many she had already drunk.
She wondered how many more she would drink.
Suddenly and annoyingly, the door burst open, and what looked like four young adults walked in.
"What can I do for you?" asked the bartender, suddenly more enthusiastic.
His subtlety was so great she felt that he should have been an actor rather than a bartender.
One member of the group, a shorter woman, answered: "Sorry if it's a bit late, but we just got our licenses and wanted to get a drink to celebrate."
Licenses?
Jeez, her sight was getting rusty if kids so young they had only just learned to drive looked this old.
She focused her eye a little, and she noticed it the group carried fairly standard hunter weapons.
Guess they meant a hunter's license; they probably graduated from whatever huntsmen academy was closest to wherever she was.
"Oh, it's quite alright; you brave souls are what protect civilians like me the least I can do is offer you some drinks," the bartender replied.
He eyed her. "Besides doesn't seem like I'm going to be closing anytime soon."
She snorted; he was really hammering it home with the incredibly subtle ways of telling her to hurry up and leave.
Besides, she was a huntress too.
Sort of.
Not really.
Eh, whatever.
What a dick.
The group nodded, said their thanks, and took a seat.
Bored and lacking anything else to keep her attention, she decided to eavesdrop.
She couldn't quite make out exactly what they were talking about, but it seemed to be about the heroism of the job and the cool adventures they would be having.
It made her want to vomit; she thought she might have visibly gagged, judging by the bartender's expression.
Heh, maybe she should just vomit on the ass.
Would give him an excuse to clean this shithole.
Suddenly there was noise in her ear.
She turned, and it looked like the group she'd been spying on were trying to talk to her.
How drunk was she that they managed to catch her unawares?
Sighing, she reluctantly focused on the noise.
"Um, hello?" asked a male member of the group.
"What?" She replied, her voice so raspy she surprised even herself.
"Why are you out drinking? We were just wondering since we came to celebrate."
So they were bored too, huh.
Didn't mean they had to bother her.
Annoying kids.
"I'm here to die of alcohol poisoning," she said dryly.
They laughed at what they assumed was a joke, but it died down when they saw that she hadn't joined them.
The kid tried to engage her in conversation once more. "So you a huntress?"
Couldn't they just leave already?
Had she not made it clear she wasn't interested in meaningless conversation?
"Not anymore."
"Why?" The young woman who had represented the group earlier asked.
Ok, now she was really annoyed.
How the fuck was that any of her business?
"Because what's the fucking point" she spat bitterly.
"To be a hero." said the nuisance, seemingly offended.
"A hero?" She laughed, "I don't know what imaginary world you live in, missy, but there's no such thing."
"All hunters and huntresses are heroes!" was the response she shouted.
It was at this moment she officially decided she despised this little girl.
She was the very representation of everything she hated about huntsmen and extremely familiar in a way that brought back too many unpleasant memories and regrets.
She looked at the child mockingly. "That has to be one of the stupidest things I've heard in my life. Do you know how many hunters and huntresses go rogue? Maybe you should do a school project on it."
The fool bristled, and though her friends seemed to be trying to calm her, she retorted, "They aren't real hunters and huntresses."
"Then what is a real hunter or huntress?" she asked.
"A real huntress is someone who protects the weak and puts others above themselves," the child replied naively.
"Wrong. A huntress is a glorified mercenary sold to the public on bullshit heroism like the shit you're spouting. Or are you not a real huntress? Because you sure as shit haven't done any of that garbage yet."
The girl sneered at her, "You're the worst kind of person, someone who doesn't care about anyone but themselves and feels like they have the right to criticize people for trying to do good."
How fucking dare she.
How did she think she had the right?
She glared at this veritable rat, anger bubbling inside of her. "You have no right to criticize me for anything," She seethed, "You don't know what it's like to be your ideal. You don't know what sacrifices it entails. I tried being your ideal hero; I put others above myself; I saved people! What did I get for it? Everyone I ever cared about died! They all died for your bullshit heroism, you little bitch!" She roared.
The bartender dropped a glass in surprise and fear at the intensity of her tirade, and the unfortunate friends caught in the crossfire backed away in apparent apprehension.
But to her credit, the subject of her ire only flinched.
"Would the people you cared about be proud of you now?" The girl shot back.
The bastard crossed a line there.
She was going to die for that.
She growled as she shot out of her seat and reached for her weapon.
But just as suddenly as her rage had overtaken her, reason overtook emotion.
She took a deep breath and put her hand down.
It wasn't worth it.
The anger left, and only the usual exhaustion and self-hatred remained.
"No, they wouldn't be." She replied as the simmering rage left her eye, leaving behind only one old tired silver eye.
She threw some lien on the counter and stumbled out of the bar disappearing into the night.