Sword
"Have you heard anything about this?" she asked, pulling out a yellowing sheaf of parchment. She smoothed out the decrepit folds until the frayed edges stuck flat to the countertop.
The bartender shuffled forward to peer intently at the picture.
"Well, that's the goddess-be-damned blade that tore all those places t' shreds, innit it? Everyone knows that."
She crooked her finger downward and tapped an impatient tattoo upon the crinkled surface.
"What I mean is if you know the whereabouts. I'm looking for it."
"Well now," he shifted uncomfortably. "Well now, it's right shifty, that sword. Lots o' people come and go 'round here, but they all're scared witless when it comes to that thing. Dunno if there's much to tell. 'Course,"
And a grotesque leer overtook his countenance as he none too subtly licked his lips.
"If you make it worth my while, y'know, maybe it'll jog my memory."
But she had already scoffed and turned her back, snatching up her picture.
"Screw you," she said nonchalantly over her shoulder.
"Now hang on a minnit, missy-"
Without breaking stride, her hair, sleek and blazing like a tongue of fire, formed a fist that collided with the bartender's jaw, sending him sprawling against the cabinet. Shards of wine glass sprinkled to the unkempt floor.
"Link, stop dragging your feet," she growled, before shouldering her way moodily past the swinging door hinge.
Link threw one sheepish glance back at the dazed barkeep, before traipsing merrily after her.
Author's Note:
Mother of god, it is SO HOT where I am right now, I can't move or blink I'm cooking in my own pool of sweat please send help.