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A gentle but insistent rap at the door to Trader Scar’s is all the warning he gets to cover the chest in the floor over with a loose board. He thinks he knows who it belongs to; there are few who would go out of their way to visit him at this time, the setting sun only just bright enough to keep mobs at bay.
“May I come in?” It’s Pearl’s voice that calls out - who else, is his next thought - poking her head through the doorway a second later.
“Why, of course, of course!” Scar motions with a sweeping gesture to the mostly empty room. “It’s not like you’re interrupting anything.”
Pearl laughs softly, taking just a beat longer to close the door than is necessary, and when she turns to face him, pulling up an impromptu bar stool across the counter, the red around her eyes matches the twin rings of her irises. They look almost brown in the dim light.
“What can I interest you in today?” He asks with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Company,” she says simply, and her pretence at normalcy falls in the wake of exhaustion, a quiet weariness that settles on her shoulders like a blanket.
Something beneath his ribs aches, just slightly. “That, I can do.” He allows his gaze to linger on the tense line of Pearl’s shoulders as she sighs, resting her head in the cradle of her arms, loose ringlets fanning about her like a crown. His charm is useless here, in this moment. There’s no wares to trade, no deal to be had, only a short reprieve from the tasks and a server just a breath away from bloodshed.
“We might die tomorrow.” Pearl is the first to break the silence. The words are matter-of-fact, but they carry a heaviness, a weight that suggests there’s more to them than he can understand. There’s something there, a memory that Scar can’t quite grasp, and it’s gone in a blink but it feels like the taste of blood and desert sand and the sun beating down and a fight to the death. It doesn’t feel lonely. He can’t decide if he craves it or it scares him. When he looks up from his hands, Pearl is searching his face with an unreadable expression. He thinks it might be grief.
I might kill you tomorrow, he doesn’t say, nodding slowly instead.
“I’m afraid,” he admits, the two words feeling small, unimportant. “Of tomorrow, I mean. I don’t-” He breaks off, carding fingers through his hair. I don’t want to know what it will bring? But he wants this to all be over. He doesn’t want to be trapped in the whims of this game’s cruel mercy for any longer.
Pearl’s eyes tell a different story. They caution that somehow, tomorrow won’t be the first. The hush that settles over them is comfortable, but uneasy. Scar wants to cling to this moment until the last possible second, but he doesn’t stop her as she makes to leave. He doesn’t wish her goodbye, either. It feels too final.
Be careful, her stiff posture warns as she rises, lingering on the threshold and glancing back for the barest of moments. Her expression softens at what she sees there. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Scar,” she says before slipping out, and the words hang in the space she’d occupied moments before. The sadness is gone from her tone, replaced by a reluctant promise. He stares into the silence of the room until the sun dips below the horizon for good. He almost hopes she doesn’t keep it.