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"Tell me about momma again!"
The girl was only about six years old. More finely built than the sturdy peasant stock children that filled the streets of Athkatla's east side, but she was just as scuffed, smudged, scraped and scabbed as any street rat youngling would be. She had the typical Swift lopsided smile- currently made more uneven by the gaps where adult teeth were pushing the baby teeth out- and the typical Swift wide grey eyes, but elven blood gave them the shimmer of silver, like bright coins twinkling in the sun. At that moment, those eyes and that impish smile were working their childish magic on her uncle as she clambered with the reckless abandon only the fearless youth possess into the man's lap.
Cody had been dozing at the time, slouched down low in a rickety chair on the front porch of a home that was little more than a shack. The heavy, late summer Amnian air sat dead still down those back alleys, filled with the sounds of droning flies and the distant rumble of an afternoon storm brewing up. He was stripped to the waist in an effort to beat the heat, and the hand-rolled cigarette he'd been smoking had burnt out some time ago, leaving the blackened butt hanging limply from his lips. Half consciously, a hand occasionally drifted up to lazily wave away the more annoying buzzing insect, until his siesta was cut short by the boundless energy of a six-year-old girl. She clambered and climbed until she sat facing him, brandishing an ornate silver hairbrush at him, her chin lifted and jutted forward with imperious intent.
Ever so slowly, a stormy blue-grey eye creaked open and regarded the child before drifting back down, sealing shut once more. The waving hand moved in to pluck the dead cigarette from his lips and flick it to the street before dropping back to his lap. Moments passed.
Cody didn't need to have his eyes on her to know that her expression was being pulled from it's look of haughty demand into one of her trademark hilariously adorable scowls. He fought to maintain his feigned doze as she bounced impatiently, and drummed her sharp little heels into his shin. She gave a discontented grumble that grew into a plaintive, "Unca Cooooooooooooody!" He was a sucker for it, every time. The way his name came out sounding like a pitiful little wail. Lips pulled back into a grin, and eyes cracked open to peer through blond lashes at his niece.
"River, girl... I have told you about your mamma so much, you correct my own damn story now."
The hairbrush was offered forward again, and innocent wide eyes blinked up at him again. They were so trusting, those eyes. So adoring. "That's a'cause unca Davey says you're a habi...uhmmm..... patho... you're a damn liar."
Cody had taken the brush, and had begun to undo the girl's braided pigtails. It was a daily ritual: brushing out the girl's tangles, then re-braiding her hair. It was a daily ritual that made Cody pray River was in no hurry to grow older, no matter how much of a pain in the ass the girl could be. "Issat a fact, huh?" Despite the strength of his hands, he worked out the tangles carefully, until the brush passed smoothly through wavy, chestnut brown hair. "What else does your Uncle Davey say, hmm?" His deep voice was laced with laughter and easy contentment as he spoke. He handed the brush back to her and began to part her hair for the braids.
"He also says you're a man-slut.... whatever that is".
There was a long, pregnant pause before the laugh became outright. "Your Uncle Davey's just jealous, sweety. Don't pay him no mind. And don't go usin' words he does, either. Man ain't got no class."
"I don't think that's it. I think it's a'cause he's angry alla time. I don't never see him smile."
Cody could only offer a sad smile to that as he finished one braid, then had the girl turn so he could start the other. "Davey just needs to braid your hair for you. I do it all the time, and look at how much I smile."
River gave her uncle a withering look, then scrunched her face up. "You're just sayin' that a'cause you don't wanna do it no more. Besides, he yanks my hair, an' it hurts."
"Arright, little'un. You're done. Now hop off an' go play." Cody tied off the second braid, then offered the girl a pat on the back.
"Nuh-uh! You were gon' tell me about my momma!" River huffed, and crossed her arms over her scrawny little chest with a rather indignant bounce.
Cody had started to lean back, allowing eyes to begin drifting back closed. The girl's outburst caused his eyebrows to dart up in mock surprise. "Did I? Funny, I could have sworn I promised to tickle you 'til you peed your pants..." Quicker than lightning, hands reached up and fingers began to gooch a suddenly writhing mass of braids and squealing laughter in the ribs.
In between howls, shrieks and drumming kicks, River started crying out, laughing all the while, "Nooooo! Don't do it, don't do it!"
"Do it!"
Her tiny hand gripped the hairbrush and swung in a tightly controlled arch, as if the motion had been seen and practiced a thousand times.
Cody's eyes flared wide in shocked surprise.
River looked down in abject horror. She was grasping the hairbrush like a weapon, it's handle buried into his ribs while Cody's bright red blood gushed out over her hands.
The sound of her own terrified shriek yanked her back into consciousness just in time for her to roll onto her side and vomit up anything that might have remained in her stomach. Long moments passed as she lay upon the rough floor boards, gulping and sobbing, before she pushed herself up. The half-elf was visibly shaking as she weaved a stumbling path to the basin, just as she had done every night, since the night. She made no bother to look at her haggard reflection in the mirror as she approached. She seemed to look through it, as if gazing upon a glass that offered no reflection back to her, before eyes dropped downward to rest upon violently trembling fingers. With hypnotic fixation, she unwound dirty bandages from her hands and plunged raw, bleeding flesh into the grey, murky water before taking up the rough bristle brush and lye soap.
Then she scrubbed. She scrubbed, and scrubbed, crying out in pain and anger because no matter how hard she bore down upon the brush, the guilt remained.
Tears of grief poured down cheeks that were already chapped, and soap suds turned red as bristles stripped away even more skin. The pain just made her scrub harder until at last River crumpled to the floor- broken, alone and with blood covered hands.
The girl was only about six years old. More finely built than the sturdy peasant stock children that filled the streets of Athkatla's east side, but she was just as scuffed, smudged, scraped and scabbed as any street rat youngling would be. She had the typical Swift lopsided smile- currently made more uneven by the gaps where adult teeth were pushing the baby teeth out- and the typical Swift wide grey eyes, but elven blood gave them the shimmer of silver, like bright coins twinkling in the sun. At that moment, those eyes and that impish smile were working their childish magic on her uncle as she clambered with the reckless abandon only the fearless youth possess into the man's lap.
Cody had been dozing at the time, slouched down low in a rickety chair on the front porch of a home that was little more than a shack. The heavy, late summer Amnian air sat dead still down those back alleys, filled with the sounds of droning flies and the distant rumble of an afternoon storm brewing up. He was stripped to the waist in an effort to beat the heat, and the hand-rolled cigarette he'd been smoking had burnt out some time ago, leaving the blackened butt hanging limply from his lips. Half consciously, a hand occasionally drifted up to lazily wave away the more annoying buzzing insect, until his siesta was cut short by the boundless energy of a six-year-old girl. She clambered and climbed until she sat facing him, brandishing an ornate silver hairbrush at him, her chin lifted and jutted forward with imperious intent.
Ever so slowly, a stormy blue-grey eye creaked open and regarded the child before drifting back down, sealing shut once more. The waving hand moved in to pluck the dead cigarette from his lips and flick it to the street before dropping back to his lap. Moments passed.
Cody didn't need to have his eyes on her to know that her expression was being pulled from it's look of haughty demand into one of her trademark hilariously adorable scowls. He fought to maintain his feigned doze as she bounced impatiently, and drummed her sharp little heels into his shin. She gave a discontented grumble that grew into a plaintive, "Unca Cooooooooooooody!" He was a sucker for it, every time. The way his name came out sounding like a pitiful little wail. Lips pulled back into a grin, and eyes cracked open to peer through blond lashes at his niece.
"River, girl... I have told you about your mamma so much, you correct my own damn story now."
The hairbrush was offered forward again, and innocent wide eyes blinked up at him again. They were so trusting, those eyes. So adoring. "That's a'cause unca Davey says you're a habi...uhmmm..... patho... you're a damn liar."
Cody had taken the brush, and had begun to undo the girl's braided pigtails. It was a daily ritual: brushing out the girl's tangles, then re-braiding her hair. It was a daily ritual that made Cody pray River was in no hurry to grow older, no matter how much of a pain in the ass the girl could be. "Issat a fact, huh?" Despite the strength of his hands, he worked out the tangles carefully, until the brush passed smoothly through wavy, chestnut brown hair. "What else does your Uncle Davey say, hmm?" His deep voice was laced with laughter and easy contentment as he spoke. He handed the brush back to her and began to part her hair for the braids.
"He also says you're a man-slut.... whatever that is".
There was a long, pregnant pause before the laugh became outright. "Your Uncle Davey's just jealous, sweety. Don't pay him no mind. And don't go usin' words he does, either. Man ain't got no class."
"I don't think that's it. I think it's a'cause he's angry alla time. I don't never see him smile."
Cody could only offer a sad smile to that as he finished one braid, then had the girl turn so he could start the other. "Davey just needs to braid your hair for you. I do it all the time, and look at how much I smile."
River gave her uncle a withering look, then scrunched her face up. "You're just sayin' that a'cause you don't wanna do it no more. Besides, he yanks my hair, an' it hurts."
"Arright, little'un. You're done. Now hop off an' go play." Cody tied off the second braid, then offered the girl a pat on the back.
"Nuh-uh! You were gon' tell me about my momma!" River huffed, and crossed her arms over her scrawny little chest with a rather indignant bounce.
Cody had started to lean back, allowing eyes to begin drifting back closed. The girl's outburst caused his eyebrows to dart up in mock surprise. "Did I? Funny, I could have sworn I promised to tickle you 'til you peed your pants..." Quicker than lightning, hands reached up and fingers began to gooch a suddenly writhing mass of braids and squealing laughter in the ribs.
In between howls, shrieks and drumming kicks, River started crying out, laughing all the while, "Nooooo! Don't do it, don't do it!"
"Do it!"
Her tiny hand gripped the hairbrush and swung in a tightly controlled arch, as if the motion had been seen and practiced a thousand times.
Cody's eyes flared wide in shocked surprise.
River looked down in abject horror. She was grasping the hairbrush like a weapon, it's handle buried into his ribs while Cody's bright red blood gushed out over her hands.
***
The sound of her own terrified shriek yanked her back into consciousness just in time for her to roll onto her side and vomit up anything that might have remained in her stomach. Long moments passed as she lay upon the rough floor boards, gulping and sobbing, before she pushed herself up. The half-elf was visibly shaking as she weaved a stumbling path to the basin, just as she had done every night, since the night. She made no bother to look at her haggard reflection in the mirror as she approached. She seemed to look through it, as if gazing upon a glass that offered no reflection back to her, before eyes dropped downward to rest upon violently trembling fingers. With hypnotic fixation, she unwound dirty bandages from her hands and plunged raw, bleeding flesh into the grey, murky water before taking up the rough bristle brush and lye soap.
Then she scrubbed. She scrubbed, and scrubbed, crying out in pain and anger because no matter how hard she bore down upon the brush, the guilt remained.
Tears of grief poured down cheeks that were already chapped, and soap suds turned red as bristles stripped away even more skin. The pain just made her scrub harder until at last River crumpled to the floor- broken, alone and with blood covered hands.
