literature

3 Anselma Halldottor

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''I listen ya owe a friend 'a' mine some coin, hm?'' Anselma turned Bonny's chin up and glared into her dilated pupils. ''Bleeding gyk! Isolda has de patience of a flea! 170 weights na' more!'' Bonny spat, hitting the atmosphere to emphasize her point. ''Ya owe 1,800 weights. I came to collect,'' Ans' voice sank an octave, here clawed fingers encircling Bonny's thin neck, the third woman withdrew to a wall.

''I'll get de box,'' the housemother swallowed, hastening behind her desk and trembling as she opened the drawer. ''Here here! Get it! Out 'a' me sight!'' Bonny snarled and retreated as Anselma jerked the case from her grip. ''Nis' ta meet ya two, have a great day'' Ans bent her head after counting the stores and softly closed the door after her. Leaving the two hookers without any sound nerves.

Isolda watched Anselma gently lay the lockbox on the bar ere taking it and seeing every last penny of what she was owed was in the box.

''Praise ye much! Thank ye!'' the innkeeper sprang onto the hybrid, embracing as much as she could, which ended up being only partially around Ans' thick waist. Anselma laughed and stroked the older woman's head in acknowledgment, gratified at the kind gesture. ''Na' I best get ye some sausages an' iggi! Would ye like some pie with that?'' Isolda chirruped merrily, ''Ya. All would be good,'' Ans' responded.

The following day Anselma woke with a content exhalation, she and Brit had completed the work and went to bed with satisfied bellies. Times were good. Having risen before anyone who would be cooking, Ans chose to reorder her screwdrivers that had slipped into disarray while travelling. Some jeering noises had started outside, confused that it had begun this early, Anselma stood by the drafty windowpane and listened.

''Ye fykken wee hag! Think ye can deceive us!'' a dog-headed man knocked a compact Round Ear woman on the head, making blood flow down her profile. ''Ye just want me gone so ye can have Abi!'' the black-haired lady retorted through gritted teeth. ''Just wait till Aiden hears about this! Then I won't have to hear ye screechin' no more!'' the male screamed in the female's face, dragging her by the hair and tying her to a post that sat by the foul road.

Dog head guy forced her to kneel after she was restrained then punching her multiple times, clearly breaking her nose before hurridly unbuckling his belt. Ans kept watching but was extremely thankful she hadn't eaten yet.

After he was finished he choked his victim for good measure before finally abandoning her and hurrying back into the apartment they had come from. Anselma considered the recent event, mentally weighing the pro and cons of what she was about to do next.

''Guess we'll be moving again,'' the hybrid muttered to herself, stuffing her things into her basket and digging a few coins out of her hip pack.

Ans walked into the kitchen where a teenage Round Ear was chopping up the filling for the day's iggi, tapping him on the shoulder. ''For Isolda,'' she stated, grabbing his hand and placing the money in it.

After dropping her load with Brit, Anselma slowly approached the beaten woman tied to the stake, trying her best not to frighten her too much. Crouching beside her Ans waited until the female slowly turned her head and looked at her through swollen and watery eyes. Not saying anything, the Davaanian untied the coarse rope and offered a hand to the woman. She hesitated a moment before taking Anselma's webbed fingers, quickly, Ans lead her to the stable and told Brit to watch over her. Then, the hybrid made a beeline for the apartment the attacker had come out of.

Upon entering, Ans inhaled deeply, gagging on the foulness of unwashed people and the fact that whoever lived in the second flat to the right was hiding a body. 'I miss Davaan,'' Anselma groaned to herself, recollecting the freshness that abounds in her homeland. Bracing herself, Ans took another whiff and this time caught the bastard's scent. Following it up the next set of stairs, the hybrid was directed to a feeble-looking entry. It was much too quiet.

'Smells like death,' Anselma discerned right away, turning the corner to see kelsevg was stretched out on a ragged bed, and the girl Ans supposed to be Abi, in a pool of blood. ''Oi! We gotta problem,'' Anselma growled, lifting the frightened Dog Head by his grubby shirt level with her black eyes.

Third horrible part of Ans' story, mild chance of vague enjoyment possible, have a good day.
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