Prudence Stolz
The Slums — NightThe slums. If Prudence had grown up in Gullian she would’ve lived in the slums, but she had grown up in Rigomar. The desolate there lived in camps set up around spice plantations. It wasn’t paradise, but the weather was pretty nice outside of monsoon season and a permanent aroma of delicious food seasoned with whatever spices the workers could pinch filled the camp. The slums here had the permanent aroma of the head of a ship after the cook gave the entire crew food poisoning. Even the sea smelled different here. Rotten, almost. Prudence knew for a fact that there were at least two things rotting down there, per Fontaine’s orders. That could never be the case in Rigomar. The water was too clean. Too clear. She missed it sometimes, in a stupid, sentimental sort of way.
However, Gullian had things about it that Rigomar lacked, too. Like opportunity. Being a soldier was perhaps the highest post someone like Prudence could’ve gotten in Rigomar. Assuming she didn’t get gutted by a pirate or tossed overboard in a storm then for all her hard work and dedication she would’ve been given enough pay to afford a tent in a camp next to a spice plantation. All of that just to end up back where she had started was hardly the right motivation. Even with paying Fontaine for her room and board, Prudence was making more than she ever would’ve in the merchant navy. Plus, there was a lot more freedom, significantly more fun company, and a lot less bowing. The only person she dipped her head to these days was Fontaine, and that was purely out of respect for the woman.
In fact, the only damn reason Prudence would willingly trudge through the slums at night was because she respected that woman. She didn’t hate the idea of walking through it in the dark because it was dangerous—she loved that it was dangerous, especially now with her fury still burning behind her eyes. Nothing would make her night more than for a gang of young thugs to try and test their luck against her. In fact, if Prudence didn’t know that it would immediately put her in Fontaine’s bad graces she would’ve turned around, marched into the Faded Lantern, and start a damn turf war right this moment. That was how badly she was itching for a fight. But she didn’t want to anger Fontaine, blissfully unaware of the fact that she was living with that woman’s leash around her neck. Vargas’s boys were off-limits. But a bunch of nobodies just trying to snag enough coin to put bread in their bellies? Well, most people would consider it a courtesy to have their kind removed from the streets.
She stopped in the middle of the uncrowded street, turned her head over her shoulder, and frowned. Hadn’t she already passed that building? She turned on her heels and took a few steps back before she shook her head, spun around, and continued on the way she had originally been going. This was why she hated going into the slums at night. It was hard enough as it was finding her way through the narrow and winding unmarked streets in the daytime, but in the poorly lit night it was nearly impossible. She stopped again. Listened. Prudence should’ve been able to hear the sea, and she most certainly didn't. She sighed, and turned back around. When had she made a wrong turn?
Frustration ate at her as she retraced the path she had already come down, passing by what...may have been the same burnt down building as before? Or was it a new one? She didn’t remember the doorframe still standing, but then again she hadn’t studied it so much on the first pass. She grumbled to herself and kept moving. She turned left, then right, then left, then followed an alley, then took another right, followed by a left, and found herself staring at a burnt down building once again. Prudence didn’t hold back her rage as angry gibberish flooded out of her mouth, her fists raised in fury behind her head as if she was about to smash the cobblestone.
“You lost, lass?” said a kindly older voice from behind her. Prudence snapped around, her scarf fluttering at her waist as her hand brushed against her dagger. An elderly man, bent at the back and with skin like melted leather, lifted a lantern up and smiled a toothless grin at her. Prudence winced at the brightness of the lantern as it shone in her eyes.
“You should get a light.”“My eyes work just fine in the dark! This place is the problem. It makes no sense at all. Just endlessly roads and identical buildings. How can people stand it?” she said, venting to the stranger.
“You get used to it, dear. We’re in Centrage right now. Which borough do you live in?” he asked.
“Which borough do I live in? I don’t live in the slums,” said Prudence, a hint of disgust in her voice. As if it was a superior living situation she added,
“I live in a brothel.”“You’re a whore?” asked the old man.
“Do I look like a whore?” asked Prudence with a growl, her face hardening as she took a step forward.
“I am sorry, miss. My eyes do not work just fine in the dark; hence the light. It’s quite obvious when I see you up close that nobody would ever take you as a whore,” said the old man. He chuckled at his own jab.
“Good to hear,” said Prudence. She didn’t even realize for a second that he might’ve been insulting her. She didn’t have what most people would call an attractive face. Her lips were chapped and chewed, her skin was nearly as dirty as it was tanned, her nose had been broken more times than she could count (which, to be far, wasn’t very high), and her eyes were sunken. She was far from the ugliest woman in the world, but she still wasn’t anywhere close to being pretty.
“So you know you’re way around here, old man?”“Better than some. What are you looking for?” “I’m looking for a whore.”“Well, it’s been a spell since I’ve been with one, but I’d wager that your house would be a good place to start,” he said with a wink.
“Not one of those girls,” said Prudence with a groan. The old man seemed so harmless that it was difficult to get upset with him. She might’ve seemed annoyed with him, but that hatred that had been inside of her had cooled down to its usual simmer. She didn’t know what it was, but there was something about old people that she just liked. They were kind of cute, she guessed, in a gross kind of way. Much like a pug.
“I’m looking for one in this area. Works kind of close to the docks. Golden hair, dark skin. You know of a girl like that?”“Oh, maybe,” said the old man.
“I’m really more interested in my boys.”“You know, grandpa, I don’t really care if you enjoy them with an innie or an—”“No, no, not boys, my boys." He smiled that toothless grin again as he interrupted her. It didn't seem so cute this time.
"The ones behind you,” he said as he straightened out his spine and stepped back, killing the lantern. Prudence found herself drowned in black.
"The ones be-what?"Prudence heard the padding of footsteps running towards her. She was getting exactly what she had wanted, but nowhere near how she thought it would happen. She’d let the fact that she was getting mugged by an old man amaze her later. She dropped into a crouch, tore her dagger out of its sheath, and pivoted around as she sliced into the darkness. However, thanks to the man’s bright lantern her eyes hadn't yet adjusted back to the black of night. Instead of blood splattering to the ground and the cries of a man dying she heard the tearing of cloth and a sharp intake of air as the tip of her knife scraped against his side. Just a shallow cut, and she didn’t have time for another. Her attacker’s elbow smashed into her back and sent her off balance. She stumbled and fell to her knees, but Prudence still had her dagger in hand. She twisted it back with hopes of catching her assailant off guard.
She did just that. The mugger was used to fighting the weaklings who lived in the Slums and gave up after the first hit. He wasn’t ready for a ground assault. Prudence’s dagger drove into the back of his leg, and he screamed as she ripped it up the back of his thigh. Her attacker dropped to the ground and grabbed at his wound as Prudence stood up. Her eyes had readjusted. Her attacker wasn’t quite a man yet, but he was old enough that “boy” would be insulting. Still, he must’ve had the brain of a boy if he thought he could take her on. The idiot didn’t even have a knife, just some kind of stick that could pass as a club. It made that situation all that more ridiculous. Attacked by an old man and his idiot ass boy. She wiped the blood off on her jacket. This how charade made her want to laugh—
”Oof!” A cudgel cracked against her shoulder and almost made her drop her knife. Shit. The old man had said boys, not boy. That bastard wasn’t going to hit her again. As the second of boys went to swing his club Prudence snatched her free hand out to catch it, ripping the club away as she delivered a kick straight up his center. Boy Two crumpled to the ground and Prudence saw red. Doing this was a courtesy after all. She reversed her grip on her dagger and grinned as she readied to teach these nobodies what happened when they messed with a real killer.
Her arm had just barely raised when she heard something singing through the air from behind her. Prudence turned just in time to have the lantern crack her in the face and knock her senseless. Her frame went limp and she crumpled to the ground, her dagger clattering beside her. Her vision swam. There seemed to be an unusual amount of stars in the sky. Then, the shadows of night began to consume her vision again. She could hear words, but could hardly make sense of them. They blended together as they got further and further away. Shadows shuffled around her.
“My leg.” If she just.
“Fucking bitch.” Managed to hold.
“Get that away.” On a little.
“My leg!” Longer.
“Don’t kick it, take it.” Then she.
“Almost died!” Had a.
“Shut up!” Chance.
“MY LEG!” To.
“Shut up!” Kill.
“Hurry, before people come.” These.
“Ooo.” Fucking.
“Got it.” Bastards.
“OOOH!” Bastards.
“Help him!” Bastards.
Her eyes snapped open. Her head hurt like she had suffered the world’s worst hangover. There was something warm on her face. Blood? Hers? No, no, no, it better not be. It better not be. A growl began forming in the pit of her stomach. Someone did this. Who, who, who? Three men around her. One old in rags, two young in black. Young One was helping Young Two. Old One had a pouch in his hand. He beckoned the boys with another. The growl was in her throat. Blood was in her eyes. Head hurt. They did this? Didn’t matter. It was their fault now. Hand on cobblestone, hand on cobblestone, knee, knee, up we go. Dizzy. Head hurt. Didn’t matter. This was happening. She lifted her head. The growl escaped her mouth. Feral. Rabid. Inhuman.
Old One noticed her first. Called out to the boys. Young One noticed her second. Dropped Young Two. Dropped her knife with him. He ran. Old One ran. Young Two couldn’t run. Good. She lunged. Her hands wrapped around his leg, fingers going into a hole where there normally wasn’t one. He screamed. Good. He fell down face first. She was on him. Her vision blurred. The fire was there, but the body couldn’t. Didn’t matter. Didn’t need long. She grabbed him by the hair. Cut it short so the enemy can’t grab you. Whose voice was that? Not hers.
Didn’t matter.
She lifted his head. Crunch. Still screaming. Good. She lifted his head. Crunch. She lifted his head. Crunch.
World got darker. Didn’t matter. Still screaming. Good. She lifted his head. Crunch. She lifted his head. Crunch.No screaming. Good. World got darker, world got darker. Didn’t matter.She lifted his head and the world got darker and darker and darker and darker and 
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