My stomach rumbles. Fish and chips might not fill the boundless hole inside me, but it’ll be enough for now.
There’s a busted metal door a little further along the alleyway, with the bottom half dented as though it’s received a couple of firm kicks, and it no longer closes correctly. I nudge it open and am hit with another wall of smells. The fish and chip scents linger in the air, along with a heavy grease that tells me I’ll be feeling this meal for hours to come. There’s also the scent of sweat and unwashed bodies from all the people who headed straight here after a long day of work.
Inside, there are no lights and I feel my way along, tentacles quivering as they point me in the right direction and stop me from smashing my face into any walls.
There are three things people born with an animal inside of them like above all else: food, a fight, or a f... ine time. And failing that last one, they also like a flutter, or anything else that’ll give them a little thrill.
Which means places like this thrive. Illegal dens and fighting rings that cater to filling exactly those vices. Sometimes I like to pop along for a little extra dose of chaos or just for a good meal.
They’re also the perfect place to go unnoticed, even when you’re as freakish-looking as I am.
I pass by a wooden door to the left, one that’s letting through the distinct stink of feet and rubber. I can hear the grunts from here as well as the odd shout of encouragement that tells me exactly what’s going on behind that closed door. Since there isn’t any blood in the air, it must not be a fight night tonight, or maybe I missed it.
Not really my scene; I’ve never been one for brawling.
Beyond that, there’s another door, and this one’s guarded by a grey-haired woman sitting at a table with a crossword in front of her. I don’t stop there either, knowing what it costs to get into the den she’s guarding.
Nothing I’m willing to risk tonight.
Jack’s usually good with the gambling dens and the underground clubs. The man’s got a nose that can sniff one out at a hundred paces and he usually has a liver of steel to battle against the hard drinks they serve to your disadvantage.
That’s not where I’m headed either. Instead, I keep going until I reach a pair of battered wooden doors which swing open to reveal a large room filled with communal tables and benches. The place is heaving, despite the late hour. Which means this is one of those towns where these people work unbearably early or late hours, slinking home in the darkness so that the rest of the populace doesn’t need to see them.
Their furnaces get fixed, their chimneys cleaned, their grain worked to a pulp ready for them, but they never see the people behind all that work. Or the hovels these people are forced to live in. That’s the real reason places like this exist. The single rooms most of these people occupy don’t have running water or any way of cooking that won’t gas them out, so they have to stick to communal eating like this.
I grab a tray and a plate that’s laden with salty, fatty food and plop myself down on one of the few benches with space free. Taking a bite of food with my hood firmly in place, I keep my head down as I let my extra appendages feel around under my hood, checking out my neighbours already seated at the table.
There are two of them. Both grizzled and scarred, and letting out low warning growls from their chests. Their reactions are nothing new. The beast-borne people never know what to make of me, or any of the rest of the crew. We don’t smell right. Don’t act quite right either.
They can somehow tell we don’t belong here with people born with two souls.
“You new here?” one asks me.
I give a slow nod under my hood. “Just testing the waters. Seeing if there’s any work hereabouts.”
He snorts while the other one leans forward, trying to see my face. I keep my head down so he can’t make out any of my features.
Not that people in these parts know what I look like. The name, though? Yeah, that’s something plenty of people still know.
Sometimes being infamous has its uses.
A lot of the time, it’s a nightmare.
“You’ve picked a shitty town to find work in,” the curious one replies while the other lets out another warning growl.
I don’t take offense. I know I’m unfamiliar and it’s his animal taking umbrage at that.
Plus, they can always sense there’s something off about me. That I’m a much bigger threat than I make out to be.
Which means they’re a lot wiser than any of the fools bandying magic around and thinking it’s the same as having actual power. Or the humans that don’t even have that much, but still swagger around like they have a death wish.
I know all about humans, considering I used to be one of them. Got tortured and mangled beyond recognition by ‘em too.
The curious one seems to be waiting for a response from me, so I give a little chuckle. “Why? You know of anywhere better nearby?”
I know there isn’t. I’ve been up and down this stretch of coast for hundreds of miles, and all the towns are the same. All under the bastard king’s thumb.
Mostly I’m not here to talk, though. Just to listen and to eat my fish and chips.
