Violet's Light – chapter four
With a jingle and click of his keys, a round man with long sideburns bolted and locked the front door to 'Benzo's Pawn Shop'. He glanced around at the street behind him and pocketed his keys, then tucked a travel bag under his arm and put a cap on his head.
He sighed as he looked up at the grey sky from under the eave of his shop. In the distance, a whooshing, metallic sound echoed off the walls of the fissures, bouncing off the buildings, growing louder and louder. He knew what it meant.
It started to rain.
"Oh, fissure slugs," he mumbled, pulling his shabby overcoat tighter around himself.
He wasn't surprised as a second later, the cobblestones in the street started to disappear under water. By the time Benzo stepped off the curb, the street was a shallow but fast-moving river, rising to his ankles.
Benzo steadied himself from years of practice, ignoring how soaked his socks were, walking across the slanted street one step at a time. When he reached the other side, he grabbed onto a length of chain fastened to the side of the building for that very purpose. Following the end of the chain, he grabbed a staircase railing and started to climb slabs of rock mad into a staircase. He looked back to see how high the water had risen. Thankfully, it didn't rise higher than its usual depth, marked by the years of staining on the street curb. Even so, he had preemptively put some sandbags around his shop just in case.
Looking up, Benzo focused again on his climb. Despite the risk of slipping on the stone slabs, which looked more like miniature, white, cascading waterfalls now, he committed to every step. He knew climbing through the Underground in this storm would be easy, compared to the task ahead of him.
…
When Benzo reached the higher levels of the fissures, he was met with the familiar warm glow of the 'The Last Drop' sign through the haze of the rain. He wasn't surprised to find nobody outside in this weather, but when he pushed the front door open, the bell above the door jangled with an almost deafening echo. All around him, Benzo saw over half of the Undercity was present, filling every table and chair to capacity. And everyone was deftly silent.
No one talked, only shared glances to each other with their eyes, or spoke in low tones. Some stared into their mugs, others offered a comforting hand on another's shoulder. Most knew each other, while others were total strangers. Some even had rivalries with each other. But they were all there for the same purpose.
The place glowed from an assortment of candles flickering on every table and nook and cranny of the bar.
A skinny, gangly man with his thinning, maroon hair tied back, silently offered to take Benzo's coat with shaky hands. Huck was always rather jittery, but today he would barely look Benzo in the eye. He jostled his glasses as he wiped his eyes and nose with a handkerchief.
No one cried. No one wailed. Or at least, few showed it. But it stung the air like the heavy candle smoke.
As Benzo walked in, some familiar faces greeted him with sympathetic nods and pats on his shoulder. Nodding in return, Benzo made his way to the bar counter and found it empty.
"He's upstairs," a crackly voice said softly, nearby.
A short female yordle stood at his waist. He recognized her red beehive hair and long dark eyelashes. But today, Babette wore something different, a smoky grey shawl wrapped over her usually erotic clothing. A long necklace of prayer beads took centerstage among her jangling bracelets and earrings. Her makeup was done differently too. Instead of her usual garish blue eyeshadow, there were swirling soot lines and dots marked on her face.
With her delicately long fingers, she was lighting a pair of incense sticks. She handed one to him and gestured to the bar. On the counter was a photograph set in a stain glass picture frame, flanked by candles. Little gifts and tokens were left around it. A basket of coins was slowly filling as people passed it around the room.
After a moment of silence, Benzo offered to take her incense stick as well, resting them in the stand in front of the photo. The girl in the frame smiled back at them, unmoving.
Somehow, it didn't seem right for her to be in a photo by herself.
"The kids are downstairs," Babette said as though reading his mind. She glanced at the ceiling with a sigh, "He hasn't come out since…"
Benzo pursed his lips, pushing through another tidal wave that hit him.
"Where… where is she now?" he asked in a hushed tone.
"Upstairs, with him," Babette answered. She closed her eyes and held her prayer beads for a moment to her head, muttering silent words to the memorial photograph. "Told him I didn't have to start the body ritual yet, but… the poor girl should be prepared soon."
Benzo sighed in reply.
He knew what he was here for. He just had no idea things could've happened like this. Regardless, he was packed and prepared to stay for as long as it would take. It was time to do what he knew best, knuckling down and pushing through the storm.